The Way I Fell In
by kirasometimes
Summary: "Men heap together the mistakes of their lives and create a monster they call destiny." -MAJOR HIATUS-
1. The Exposure

**Title: **The Way I Fell In

**Author: **Claddagh Ring

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Disclaimer: I do not own _Charmed _or anything recognizable in this story.

Synopsis: Chris Halliwell has had many lives, but none as defining as his first. That was the life that changed everything.

Rating: between **T** and **M** for heavy subject matter, language, and sensual/sexual content. Mature content chapters will be noted.

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**There are several Author's Notes after the prologue if you would like to know more about this story and the direction it is going in. **

THIS IS AN UNCHANGED PAST/FUTURE FIC.

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Men heap together the mistakes of their lives and create a monster they call destiny. - John Oliver Hobbes

_**Prologue: **_**2011**

He was seven years old when his world changed in the biggest way.

Since he was born – probably even before, he suspected – he'd been taught to live in secret, to hide who he truly was. It wasn't normal to move things by thinking about it. It wasn't normal to light up his room with orbs when he forgot to turn on his nightlight. It wasn't normal to blow things up by pointing at them or to freeze the cookie jar before it hit the floor and broke. At least it wasn't normal for other people. For Chris Halliwell, it was normal. But other people seemed to be more important that him. Why else would it matter if he closed the door from across the room or not?

The world, it turned out, was just going to have to get used to it.

He wasn't stupid. His family had been talking about it for months. They tried to not to use scary words around him, but he heard them anyway. Demon. Underworld. Uprising. Death. Something big was going to happen and it was up to Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe and Mommy to stop it.

It was a hot summer morning when the fog rolled over the Golden Gate Bridge. It was thick and black. It was evil, and with it, it brought Armageddon. Hundreds of demons crawled through the smog for the world to see.

The world screamed and panicked. Cars crashed, flames erupted and the normal people fled until there were only a handful left. The brave and blessed were left in the eye of the storm. Most were witches, some were human.

He recognized his Uncle Cooper, the Cupid. He saw Uncle Henry, the mortal. Both seemed so out of place on a battlefield, but they stood steady next to Darryl Morris, who actually looked a little green but Chris knew he wouldn't run. His father, Leo, was there with several other Whitelighters. His aunt's friend Billie stood other witches and creatures of good; he even spotted a few Valkyries. But none stood as strong as his mother and her sisters: The Charmed Ones.

Chris wasn't supposed to be there, but the only reason he was was because his brother Wyatt was there. They were supposed to be with the other cousins, hiding and waiting for their mothers to come home. But Wyatt had disappeared and Chris, well Chris always knew where his brother was, had followed him here to the very top of the Bridge where they watched the battle unfold.

They were hopelessly outnumbered, Chris thought in fear. What chance did they have? But it wasn't about the odds, his mother had taught him, it was about the spirit. He had to believe, no matter what, everything would be okay.

Slowly the battle turned in their favor. He wanted to cheer when the demons numbers dwindled to the point that it was an even one-on-one fight. It was looking good, like it would soon be over. Suddenly a blast of energy crashed over the battleground. The pure force ripped at his skin and rattled his teeth. He heard screams, so many screams as he fell.

When his eyes focused, all he saw was red. Familiar red, familiar blood. His family. Wyatt was on the ground, casting his shield as far and as wide as he could. Chris blinked and found himself staring into Uncle Coop's eyes. Uncle Coop wasn't staring back. There was no life left to see from. In his arms, he held three little girls.

He felt a tug on his arm as Wyatt pulled him up, away from the bodies of his cousins and Chris want to cry. Before he could, the air shifted again. It grew cold and stiff; it became hard to breathe. His lungs burned. He fell to his knees again, joined by everyone still alive on the bridge.

Everyone except Aunt Phoebe. She blazed, literally blazed with fire. Whatever was coming out of her, was not natural even by his standards. It was pure hell. Pain. Fear. Revenge. Death.

No one really saw it end. The only thing Chris was sure of was that Aunt Phoebe, in her rage, slaughtered the demons. He felt it more than anything. It felt like something had ripped a hole in his chest and was sucking out his life. She was gathering every power she could, using everything around her. There was a final gush of energy and then... the battle was over.

The real test was only beginning. Magic had been exposed to the world on such a level that even the Cleaners couldn't sweep it under the rug. There were too many witnesses, too many minds to break. The world would never be the same again. Magic was real and it was a whole new ballgame.

Everyone had an opinion. Witches were heroes, they were dangerous. They deserved to die, they were superior citizens. Everyone thought they knew what was best. But while the world raged on around them, the Halliwells tried to pick up the pieces.

It was a bit easier for Aunt Paige and Uncle Henry. They still had each other and their family. They had their home at the magic school where Aunt Paige was headmistress. Paige became an advocate and voice for the witch community during the great debates that followed the Exposure.

Phoebe never used her powers after that battle. Leo suspected she'd burnt herself out. Chris knew it was just too painful for her. Her entire family, lost in one strike. Everything magic had given her, it had also taken away and she just couldn't take it anymore. No one knew how her children had gotten there, but Chris blamed himself silently. He blamed Wyatt too. They were supposed to stay with the cousins during the fight. If they'd all stayed together, maybe everyone would still be alive.

He wanted to talk to his mother about what he did, but Chris could never find the words. So he kept it, this secret. It was his first real secret, something no one else knew. As life went on, he buried it until it was just something he lived with.

He once considered talking to Leo about it. After all, his dad was an angel. But he was an angel with broken wings, Chris decided. He had his faults. He would barely see Piper, the woman he supposedly loved. Chris and his little sister Melinda would be left behind while Wyatt would spend hours and hours with their dad. Leo said it was because Wyatt needed special attention. Because Wyatt was twice-blessed and he was older and he had a great destiny.

No one noticed that Christopher Halliwell was only seven years old when his destiny was decided.

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**AN: **I started this story years and years ago - it was called The Past Before - and for a lot of boring reasons, I discontinued it. But it's still a story I want to tell, and I feel like I can finally do it the justice it deserves. So it may sound familiar to some of you; it may not.

This will be a long journey, covering the life Chris may have had in his unchanged past. It will start with Piper's death when he was 14 and go all the way until he goes to the past to save Wyatt as we see in Season 6. Basically, this will cover ages 14 through 21 and will not be for the light of heart. Chris did not have a happy past. There will be bright spots, hopefully some humor, but over all, this will be on the heavy-handed side.

**AN2: **I did not watch Charmed much before Season 6, or much afterwards. I believe I know enough about the series to avoid any major contradictions between the canon and my universe but **I apologize in advance** for any discrepancies. This is very much **AU** (which kind of doubles for alternate universe AND assumed universe).

**AN3: **I am making my timeline under the assumption that Chris was born May 2004 (as was his on-air birth).

_The new title was inspired by the song "Heaven or Hell" by The Morning Of._

_I write, you read, you review, I write more._


	2. Pinpoint

**Disclaimer: **It's not all mine... not really.

**AN: **I want to thank everyone who reviewed and/or added me to story alerts, favorite author and favorite story lists. It's immensely encouraging to me, since this is a story I've tried to write 3 times already. I hope I don't disappoint you in the long run.

**More author's notes after the story. **(for some reason I like these)

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_As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment... and then the moment was gone. - John Steinbeck_

**Chapter One: Pinpoint**

**2018**

Chris was in a hurry, which usually never warranted a second thought from Piper. The kid never seemed to be on time for anything and was always secretly orbing home to retrieve something he'd forgotten in his rush. So it wasn't unusual for her youngest son to be running around so frantically in the morning. Except, well, except for the fact he'd been going at it since 6 o'clock this morning. Which meant he was up to something. She loved her son – she loved her son – but Chris had a knack for creating trouble. It was only a matter of time before something caught on fire or disappeared or melted into a jello-like goop, an unexpected result from a Chemystic experiment.

She flipped the bacon and checked the clock on the oven. 7:42. It was a good thing the door to Magic School was on her staircase or Chris would never have made it to school on time once in his life. Sometimes she thought he took advantage of that too.

As if on cue, she heard him stumble down the stairs and burst through the kitchen door. His dark chocolate hair was sticking in all different directions and Piper was sure she saw two different colors of socks tucked into his dirty, ragged and ripped Converse sneakers. She hated those things. If she thought he'd wear them, she'd have bought him some new clean ones for his birthday.

"Hey mom have you seen-," he spoke quickly while she just pointed to the floor by the doorway where his book bag had been deposited and left without a second though the night before. He grinned sheepishly and picked it up.

"Breakfast?" Piper asked, holding out an egg and bacon sandwich, wrapped in a paper towel. "On the go. You're late."

"Yeah, thanks mom," Chris smiled as he took the meal with one hand and leaned forward to give his mother a quick hug. "I might be a little late getting home from school. Me and Tyler have a project we're working on."

"Tyler and I," Piper corrected.

"Me and Tyler, Tyler and I, it's still the same two people Mom," Chris teased and took a bite out of the sandwich, catching a piece of egg in his hand before it hit the floor, then proceeded to throw that into his mouth as well.

"And are these two people up to anything that's going to get them in trouble?" Piper inquired, eyebrows raised.

"Me? Never," Chris insisted. "I'm part angel, don't you know?"

"Chris, that excuse has never worked for you and honey, it never will," Piper laughed and tried to smooth down his unruly hair. It was almost a morning ritual for her. She'd try and short of gluing his hair into place, would fail to make any bit of it look presentable. And, usually, Chris would groan and make her stop but this morning he just stood there, a far-off look in his eye and his half-eaten breakfast sitting abandoned on the counter.

"Are you okay honey?" Piper wondered aloud, her fingertips brushing his forehead. "You feel a little warm today."

"What?" Chris sounded confused. He shook his head quickly, destroying whatever good she'd done to his hair and smiled again. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm going to be late. Don't worry."

"Now I'm really worried," Piper half-joked.

"Ha ha," Chris said dryly as he grabbed his bag off the floor and headed out the door. "I'll see you later mom."

"Chris!" she called and he stopped short in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at her. Her worried frown evaporated into her beautiful smile. "Happy birthday baby," she said.

He couldn't help but beam back at her. He dropped his bag and ran back into the kitchen. His long arms wrapper around her shoulders as he hugged her tightly. For fourteen years, his mother had been his best friend. "Love you mom," he whispered. He could afford to be a little late today.

Of course, Professor Tillman in homeroom didn't believe in tardiness. Never mind the fact that most of his students slept through his class, as long as no one was late. Which was why, when Chris nearly broke down the door to 21th Century through Post-Exposure History, the first birthday present he received was a detention slip.

"I do expect you to show up this time Halliwell," the professor sneered. Chris shrugged as he signed the paper and found his seat. It took everything in him to resist a groan when he realized what the lecture was about. He knew he should have just skipped.

POLITICAL RAMIFICATIONS ON MYSTICISM POST-EXPOSURE

aka "Why my family is so important and I am not" the Chris Halliwell edition.

"Now, as you should all know," Professor Tillman started, his nasally voice slithering through the classroom, "it was only seven years ago that our magical world became common knowledge due to a, some say, foolish decision to wage a war with the underworld on the mortal plane in broad daylight. Nevertheless, magic was fully exposed in September of 2011 on the Golden Gate Bridge by the great Charmed Ones and several of their allies. There are varied reports as to what happened exactly but what we do know is that Phoebe Halliwell, after the brutal slaughter of her family..."

Chris zoned out. He really should have skipped today. He should just get up and walk out. He didn't need to hear about this "history". This wasn't something that happened a long time ago to some faceless tragic heroine, it was something that happened to his family, to him. This was his life. He'd lived it, every single unbearably painful second of it.

"I fell asleep to this last week." Sitting in the desk next to him was his best friend, Tyler Mathison. Ever since Tyler had convinced their second grade teacher that there actually was a ghoul in the coat closet, he and Chris had been almost inseparable. Some people even started saying they looked alike. They did have the same dark hair, the same way too skinny to be manly build and they were the tallest in the freshman class, Chris beating him by only one inch. There was one big difference however. Tyler's eyes were like blue ice, so light and sharp that on some days, Chris would swear they were white. When compared to Chris' emerald green, they looked nothing alike.

"And then you made me tell you all about it afterward, I remember," Chris replied.

"What's the point of being friends with a Halliwell if I can't learn all the gory details?" Tyler shrugged, tapping his pen against the desk. "I don't even know why he lectures over this stuff. Between Paige being on the news every week and the stories Wyatt tells every day, we all know everything about the little one battle war."

Not everything, Chris thought. It was still a big mystery how his cousins had even been there to begin with. Phoebe had spent years trying to figure it out; Chris was terrified she would find out that he and Wyatt had left to go watch the fight. His secret guilt had cost him his relationship with his aunt. He knew it hurt her, but he couldn't let himself get close to her for fear that she would find out. She wouldn't want him anyway if she knew what he did.

Wyatt, however, was very close to Aunt Phoebe. He said they understood each other, understood things that no one else could. Chris and Wyatt never talked about it, not once, but Chris knew that whatever Phoebe and Wyatt understood, it wasn't the cousins' deaths. No way would Phoebe understand that, not even from her twice-blessed nephew. But whatever it was that was as big as secret as Chris'.

"After what was dubbed The Exposure, a number of factions rose up throughout the world. There were groups in support of the magical community and there were those opposed." To Chris' relief, Tillman had moved on from the actual battle. "And like any great civil movement or change, there were radicals and causalities on both sides of the fence.

"It was a year a half before a treaty was reached between the magical community and the mortal world. That treaty was created by the United Nations, the Whitelighter Elders, and your very own headmistress, Paige Halliwell who had since become the face of the campaign.

This treaty stated that all magical creatures would declare themselves in their respective countries under a global consensus. In addition to race and age, you are now required to state if you have any supernatural abilities and fill out that adjoining card. In the beginning, this angered many people. They didn't want their powers known to the public, to their bosses and friends. They feared retribution from the people they'd had to lie to for years. But they were protected by a clause very similar to the United States Equal Opportunity Program. A witch or otherwise magical being could not be discriminated against for their abilities.

"Noticeably, this treaty left out any available options for demons or half-breed demons. So while witches and fairies and other beings of the 'good' persuasion are protected and can now live normal open lives, demons are still expected to hide underground. The tension between the realms is perhaps the highest it has ever been, but because the modern world is so accepting of magic, the underworld is hesitant to make a move like it did in September 2011. Perhaps they fear the allies we now have, perhaps they are merely outnumbered."

A hand went up in the front row and this time Chris actually did groan and let his head fall hard on the desk. The loud thunk woke up several students and earned him a few glares but he didn't care. Questions in Tillman's class meant homework. Everyone knew not to ask questions. Everyone except Marcy.

"Professor Tillman, why does everything still seem so normal then?" she asked.

"Because WE are," Chris said aloud, without even realizing the words had formed in mouth.

"Well, Mr. Halliwell, since you seem so well-versed on the subject, perhaps you should explain to us. Why does everything seem so normal?" Tillman repeated the question but before he gave Chris a chance to speak, he continued. Chris wasn't even surprised; they all saw it coming. "Tomorrow, you are all expected to present an oral essay, no less than three minutes."

"Can't wait," Chris snapped.

"You, Mr. Halliwell, are presenting today. Now."

"What?"

"Is there a problem? You seemed to be very prepared. After all, you did interrupt my lecture."

Chris was pissed. He couldn't help it. He'd always had a short fuse on him,and sometimes he over reacted but this was just ridiculous. The fucking nerve on this guy, calling him out like that, handing out an asinine assignment only to make it due thirty seconds later.

"If you don't stand up, you will fail this assignment."

That was a threat. Chris could feel his blood boiling, his face flushed. The air around him was suddenly searing hot. His skin prickled. His vision turned red. He'd never been so angry in his life. It was like he was on fire, he was so angry. He imagined he could almost smell smoke.

"CHRIS!"

Tyler's voice cut through the haze. Instantly the heat cooled and his vision returned, bright and crisp. He was standing over his desk; he didn't remember moving. The whole class was staring at him, wary and... frightened. They were scared. Of him? Why? The desks around him were empty except for Tyler's, the students having abandoned them and run to the front of the classroom. Even Tillman was half crouched behind his podium. And Chris could still smell smoke. He wasn't imagining that.

"Dude," he heard Tyler whistle. "Dude look at your desk."

Chris was so confused. He looked down but couldn't comprehend what he was looking at. Where his books and papers had been only seconds ago was a pile of ash on top of a deep, dark burn mark. It was a point of origin, where a fire had started. There were ten scorch marks on his desk. Long and thin, like something had been dragged across the top of them. It was then he realized his fingers hurt. Not a lot, but they stung, like he'd accidentally touched his mother's hot stove. His skin was pink and warm.

"What the hell?" Chris whispered.

"You just set your desk on fire," Tyler said, his voice filled with awe.

"I – I – I didn't. I – I what? I didn't know I – I couldn't have," Chris stammered, close to a real panic.

"You most certainly did Halliwell," exclaimed Professor Tillman. "Headmistress' office right this instant. Leave my classroom and do not come back. You are not welcome here anymore."

On a normal day, Chris would have had something sarcastic to retort with. He would have argued, gone off with all cylinders. But he felt the air around him warm up and decided it wasn't worth having another... whatever the hell that was. He grabbed his singed bag off the floor and walked in a daze out the door towards his aunt's office.

She was waiting for him by the time he got there and from the look on her face, she'd already heard what happened. How she knew or what version she'd heard, Chris wasn't sure, but he was damn sure she didn't know his side.

"You blew up a desk Chris?" Paige asked as he sat down on the couch in her office.

"I may have – I didn't blow it up exactly." He wasn't even sure how to explain it. "The desk is still there it's just kind of... burnt a little."

"There was a fire?" Paige asked.

"I don't know!" Chris admitted. "Tillman pissed me off and the next thing I know, my desk is burnt up and I'm smelling smoke and I'm burning up and everything looks red. I swear I didn't do it on purpose Aunt Paige. You know me! You know I can control myself."

"I know you're a little smart ass," she smirked. "And with the exception of being a smart ass, you would never attack anyone in another way. Never with magic and not in school. However... you did lose control."

"But I don't even know what happened!" Chris protested.

"Chris, you have a lot of power," Paige said calmly. "By the time you were born, you had practically mastered telekinesis. You were orbing at six months-."

"Wyatt was orbing at 5," Chris mumbled.

"And since then," Paige continued, "you've developed your mother's skill particle manipulation – as I like to call it, blowing things up or freezing them. You're incredibly in sync to others emotions which shows that you have the possibility to be an empath some day, which doesn't surprise me at all. And unless, I'm mistaken, you've acquired a number of skills. You can move things you can't see, am I right? You can reshape the landscape, change the air and to some degree the weather. The other day, you chilled a can of soda that had been sitting on the counter all day. Yes I saw you."

"But that's just being telekinetic, right?"

"Yes and no. They're all forms of telekinesis, but they're more specialized. Moving the earth, reshaping it, that's specific to geokinesis. Anything with the air is aerokinesis and chilling the soda can is an example of cyrokinesis, literally freezing things in ice, not in movement."

"Okay... I'm not sure what your point is," Chris said.

"My point, nephew, is you're a badass son of a bitch. Magically. Don't tell your mom I said that."

Chris chuckled, feeling a little better. But that still didn't explain why his desk had nearly been transformed into a smoking pile of ash. He was used to blowing things up, but not like that, not with actual flames.

"That's great, Aunt Paige, but I still don't get it."

"Did you fry your brain too?" Paige laughed. "Chris, I think you developed pyrokinesis. As in fire. As in you're setting things on fire."

Whoa.

"It's very rare, actually," Paige shrugged. "And most pyros can only manipulate an already existing flame. But some can create it by using combustible elements in the air, which is seems like you're able to do. And hey, now, I don't have to give you a birthday present!"

"How did you figure that one out?" Chris laughed.

"Come on, who's going to top 'Surprise! You're a pyro!' as a gift?"

"You are insane," Chris rolled his eyes.

"At least I'm not setting things on fire," Paige teased, then pulled out a large book from under her desk. Chris recognized it immediately and wilted inside. That book only meant one thing.

"You're going to have to take an extra class next semester," Paige explained. Great. "I have no doubt you'll test out of it quickly, but until you do, it's school policy that you go through the fire-training course. None of the students in there can create their own fire, but they can manipulate it. You'll need to learn how to control it."

"And the good news just keeps on coming," Chris groaned.

"Oh it's about to get better," Paige warned. "As your aunt, I'm impressed. You scared the crap out of Tillman. But as your headmistress -."

"I really hate when you do this."

"As your headmistress, " Paige said. "I have to suspend you for the day. Insubordination, destruction of school property, and all that. It should be longer, but developing a new power is cause of exception, for any student. It's in the handbook, chapter 3, if anyone asks."

"Mom is going to be pissed," Chris sighed.

"I'll come home and explain during lunch," Paige offered.

"Yeah, thanks," Chris felt a little relieved at that and started to leave until he remembered what Tillman had said to him. "Oh, I need a new homeroom. I got kicked out."

"Geez, Chris, do you have to antagonize every homeroom teacher?"

"I guess I'm just not a morning person."

Chris could hear her laughing as he marched towards the Magic School exit. He passed Wyatt's class and waved to his brother through the window. Wyatt returned the wave, looking slightly bewildered as Chris trudged on. He considered leaving his bag in his locker. He wasn't going to any other classes and he would fail his homeroom assignment even if he were still able to give it. But knowing his mother, she'd make him do chores as punishment, so the excuse of homework could get him out of it. So he kept it.

He'd hoped that he would be able to sneak up to his room before mom realized he was home so early from school, but she was in the living room on the phone when he walked through the magic school door and onto his own staircase. She sighted him immediately, hung up the phone and was at the foot of the stairs within five seconds.

"You better have a damn good reason for being home Christopher Perry Halliwell," she scolded.

"Have you no faith in me?"

"None whatsoever."

Chris flinched, realizing that he wasn't going to be able to deflect the subject by making light of it. So he left his bag sitting on the stairs and went to sit on the couch, propping his head up with his hands and he explained to her what happened in class.

She seemed sympathetic, occasionally rubbing his shoulder, especially when he had to explain why he interrupted the class anyway. She always knew Chris took his cousins' deaths very hard. She always wondered why too. They were close, sure, but he was so young when they died. He couldn't really have understood what death meant. But it was something he avoided talking about. He seemed so far away when he had too.

"Am I in trouble?

Piper didn't realize when he stopped talking. His big green eyes were searching hers, gauging the situation, trying to guess the outcome. He looked so inquisitive and intelligent, like he could solve the mysteries of the world if he just have enough time. He looked so... grown up.

"When did you get so old?" she asked, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

"Mom?" he said slowly. "Are you okay?"

"It's just so strange," Piper smiled sadly. "You're 14 years old but you're so... grown up."

"I'm a kid mom," he said softly.

"You're older than your years," Piper said simply, as if it were just a matter of fact. "You always have been. In some ways, you're older than Wyatt."

"Does that mean I get a car then?"

"No," Piper laughed. "And if you were, I certainly wouldn't give it to you now. Setting your desk on fire? Chris how could you?"

"I was an accident!" Chris insisted. "I didn't even know I could do something like that."

"I knew something was up this morning; I shouldn't have let you go to school. You'd been up since 6 AM, you felt warm to touch, you didn't finish your breakfast. And now I'm going to have to ground you on your birthday for being rude in class!"

"Mom!" Chris protested. "Come on, don't ground me! It wasn't my fault!"

"Maybe the desk wasn't, but your mouth certainly was," Piper reprimanded. "We have talked and talked about this young man. It's okay to be quick and clever but it is not acceptable to use it to antagonize authority figures."

"He antagonized me!"

"He is a teacher."

"Mom."

"Chris, no," Piper concluded. Chris knew there was nothing left to say when she talked like this. "You've been suspended from school so you're grounded. End of story."

"It's my birthday," Chris sulked, covering his face with a pillow.

"Which is why you're only grounded to the house," she relented. "And Tyler can still come over tonight."

Chris peeked out from behind the pillow, unsure if she was serious or not. It didn't look like she was teasing him. She was grinning, she was relaxed. She was serious!

"Well since I guess you're here, I could give your gift. I'm not going to get a chance to wrap it now," Piper said, getting up from the couch and walking over to the chest of drawers that sat next to the television. She opened the top drawer and pulled out an envelope and slipped something into her other hand. She returned to the couch and handed Chris the envelope, watching as he tore into it greedily.

His excitement lessened considerably when he realized who it was from. He scanned the letter quickly and tossed it on the floor. The paper hadn't even hit the ground before Chris said, "he's not coming."

Piper's heart dropped for her son. She silently cursed at the person who had written the letter. Her husband Leo, father of her children, absentee father. It was always Chris he seemed to let down the most. One day, she was going to show Leo all the apology letters he sent to her children and how many were addressed to Chris. One day he was going to have to understand.

"Whatever," Chris said, shrugging as if it were no big deal. Piper knew he was lying, but that was another thing Chris never talked about. One day she was going to have to make him talk about it, just like she'd have to make him talk to Leo. But not today.

"This is from me," Piper said and she held out her hand. Chris held his under hers and she dropped what looked like a quarter attached to a lengthy silver chain into his hand. It was flat and silver, but where it would catch the sun, he could see straight through it and it would gleam as if it were made of diamonds. But no matter what color it was or wasn't, he could feel a soft, slow, steady energy pouring out of it and into him. It made him feel safe and collected. Loved.

"Your great grandmother helped me with this. It's made from your ancestors."

"From them?"

"Little pieces of their spirits, melded together into this pendant. I 'm in there. Paige and Phoebe too."

"Aunt Phoebe too?"

"She loves you Chris," Piper said, hugging her son as he stared at the pendant. "I know you're not as close to her as Wyatt or Melinda, but she loves you dearly. We all do. I guess this is just our way of letting you know. This way you can always feel us."

"I feel... protected," Chris said quietly. "Connected."

"And you should. Because I love you Chris. So much," Piper said, holding back a sob. She was getting emotional, she knew so she sat back on the couch and stared out the window. As non-nonchalantly as she could, she added, "I hope it's not too girly for you."

Chris didn't say anything, just lunged across the couch, wrapping his mother in arms and just held onto her. He was exhausted from this day already, but this moment, this one single moment was worth going through it all over and over again, as long as he could get to this moment.

"It's perfect," he assured her.

As with most things in life, it happened in the blink of an eye. Neither of them ever saw it coming. He heard it before he felt it, felt it before he understood it. There was a hole in him. Literally, a hole. A bullet hole and it was seeping blood. His stomach was covered in it. And she was red. Three holes. One in her stomach. Two holes in her chest, pumping blood. Her skin was white, twisted in fear, in confusion. Her eyes were wide but she just sat there on the couch as he fell. Shattered glass on the floor bit into his legs. He could smell smoke again. It wasn't coming from him. It wasn't him.

It was coming from them. Whoever they were. He could see them, on the porch, hidden in the shade. They laughed and smirked and threw fire from their hands. They were evil. They were death. They were human.

The fire raged around him. He couldn't move. She wasn't moving. The shock came in waves. It would wear off and then come back. The heat clouded his vision and the pain... the pain was getting worse and worse. Stinging, burning, freezing, pulling, ripping. Someone was screaming, but it wasn't her. She was gone. His mother was dead. She'd been murdered. She was gone. His hand tightened like a vice around the pendant that just one perfect moment ago had been just a small part of her. Now it was all he had left.

It was him, he was screaming.

* * *

**AN2: **Holy crap, that's longer than I thought it would be. I realize this chapter seems mostly filler, since we all know that Piper died, but it was one of Chris' defining moments and for me, it really starts his story. I promise in the next chapter we'll start getting into the new ideas, including a sort of brand new character. I usually hate OCs but they're kind of necessary for a story like this, so I tried to create one that would fit into Chris' new world and not be too off-putting for the rest of you... technically, he did appear in Season 6 though. Sort of.

**AN3: **I never understood why Chris was supposedly so much less powerful than Wyatt; they come from the same blood. I realize that Wyatt is the Twice-Blessed child, and he is going to have the tactical advantage over any magical being, but for Chris, his brother, to be average... it just never made sense, which is why in my timeline Chris is given a multitude of powers, most an evolved form of his psychokinetic gifts (telekinesis is a from of psychokinesis). Much later, I will address the reasons why Chris doesn't have these same gifts in the past/future, but for now, you will see him discover new talents.


	3. Suspended Reaction

**Disclaimer: **It's not all mine... not really.

**AN: **Okay, I lied. I'm sorry, but I won't be introducing my big OC in this chapter after all. I decided it would be too much for one chapter and it didn't flow naturally into the story at this point. I _swear_, he will make his appearance in the next chapter...

_**Diana, the answers to your questions are at the bottom if you'd like to read that first.**_

* * *

_I cannot stand to be awake; the pain is too much. - unknown_

**Chapter Two: Suspended Reaction**

"The funeral services for Piper Halliwell will be held today at an undisclosed location. Halliwell, the eldest of the three Charmed One witches, was shot and killed in her home on Tuesday by several members of the radical anti-magic organization, The Mortal Majority . Her youngest son, Christopher Halliwell, also sustained serious injuries in the bloody attack and remained in critical condition until just two days ago. He is still under constant medical supervision but is expected to make a full recovery. The Majority have already claimed responsible for the fire that burnt down nearly half of the Charmed Ones' home, and while there have been no official charges in this case, we have it on good authority that several of the suspects in custody will be charged with first degree murder and conspiracy pending positive identification. The Halliwell family has asked for privacy in the time of their grief."

"Turn it off," Chris whispered, his voice scratching and grating against his throat. The tiny television blinked off immediately as Chris looked over at the the blond teenager that seemed to have taken up residence in the cheap plastic hospital chair. Wyatt's startled face would have been funny on a normal day, but Chris was just too tired to find any pleasure in getting one over on his older brother.

"Hey little bro," Wyatt greeted. "How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," Chris groaned, pushing his blanket down to stare at the bandages on his chest. White. At least they weren't soaked through with red anymore. He touched gingerly at the first bandage stretched across his shoulder, wincing as soon as he applied even the lightest of pressure.

"Stop poking at it, nimrod," Wyatt exclaimed, slapping his hand away. "Do you want to start bleeding again?"

"So it's still not healed?" Chris sighed.

"Do you really think you'd be hooked up to the morphine drip if you were?" Wyatt grinned, though Chris could tell it was slightly forced. Wyatt was just trying to be the older brother, protect him and annoy him, anything to keep Chris' mind off where he was and how he had gotten there. It wasn't working.

It had taken a few days before he could get anyone to tell him what happened after he blacked out. He had gotten the story out of Tyler who had gotten it out of Wyatt who had overheard the doctors telling Grandpa Victor just exactly how fucked up Chris had been when they brought him in. They probably used a more medical term but there it was.

There had been so much blood that the doctors hadn't even realized he'd been shot more than once until after they had cleaned him up. There were three bullet holes: two in the chest and shoulder and one in his stomach. They matched the wounds the coroner had found in his mother. Their best guess was that the bullets passed clean through Piper and lodged in Chris. It was his height, the fact that he was so much taller than his mother even when sitting down, that saved his life. The bullet that killed her, that ruptured her heart, missed his by mere inches.

There were other minor injuries: cuts from the shards of glass on the floor, minor burns from the fire, smoke inhalation, tissue and muscle damage... and the blood loss. There had been lots of blood loss. No one knew exactly how much he lost, but he'd been given what seemed like a dozen blood transfusions, Wyatt and their little sister Melinda taking turns donating their blood in addition to the hospital supply.

Wyatt started coughing, his body shaking with the force of it as he reached for the pitcher of water next to Chris' bedside and poured himself a drink. The paper cup shook in his hand as Wyatt slowly drained the liquid until his breathing calmed. Looking at him, you would have never guessed Wyatt had gone through hell as well.

Chris overheard him tell the story to Leo a few days ago when they thought Chris was asleep. Wyatt had second period free, and as usual, he'd come home to have a late breakfast and a short nap. Except this time when he stepped through the magic door and onto the manor staircase, he'd literally walked into an inferno. All he could see was black smoke. He wasn't even sure how he'd seen Chris through the fumes, but he did. It was like he was on auto-pilot, he'd said. The heat, the burning, he could feel it all but seeing Chris, on the floor, not moving... getting to him was all that mattered. And then he saw mom on the couch and he had to get her too. When he was close enough, he grabbed them both and orbed out without a second thought. So while the firemen put out the fire and the doctors may have stitched him up, it was Wyatt who had saved his life.

"You okay?" Chris asked.

"Perfect," Wyatt muttered, tossing the empty cup into the trashcan across the room. "It's a cough."

"I thought Le- I thought dad healed you," Chris coughed, stumbling over using his father's name. Wyatt and dad were close; it was too weird for Wyatt out when Chris called him Leo.

"I told him to leave it," Wyatt shrugged. "If you can handle being the human equivalent of a target practice mat, I can handle a cough. Besides, it makes my voice all raspy and sexy."

"That is disgusting," Chris half-smiled, which instantly made him feel worse. He wasn't supposed to be smiling.

"It still bothers me," Wyatt said.

"What does?" Chris wondered.

"That no one was able to heal you," Wyatt explained. "That we still can't. I tried and dad tried and Paige and even Gideon tried."

"Who's Gideon?" Chris grunted.

"Dad's friend, Gideon. He's an elder," Wyatt said. "I guess you haven't met him. He's like, one of the most powerful elders and even he could heal you. It was like there was something blocking us from you."

"Wyatt, just leave it alone, okay?" Chris groaned. He didn't want to hear about how his father had failed him. Again. Part of him him knew it wasn't fair; he knew that if he blamed Leo for this, he'd have to blame Paige and Wyatt and whoever this Gideon person was and he knew he was being irrational. But Leo had never been able to do anything right by Chris, so why would he start now?

"Dad thinks maybe it was like, a magical trauma," Wyatt continued, ignoring Chris' hint. "like, how you've always been kind of emotional and he thinks maybe, with everything happening so quickly, you couldn't process any of it and all your energy was going into shock and that was blocking our healing powers. I mean, I guess it kind of makes sense-."

"Yeah, so it's my fault again?"

"No one said that Chris."

"Whatever," Chris scoffed. This wasn't a fight Chris wanted to have with Wyatt today. He just didn't have the energy. "Where's grandpa?"

"At the nurse's station," Wyatt said. "He's trying to get you a temporary release."

"For what?" Chris asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

There was a heavy pause as Wyatt's blue ocean eyes turned sadly on his brother. It was only then that Chris realized Wyatt was a little over-dressed to just be spending another day in the hospital. Black slacks, black button up shirt, black vest. He usually curly blonde hair had been newly cut and trimmed short.

"Mom's funeral is today."

It was if the world had been balancing on the edge of a cliff only to be pushed over the edge by those little words. All that weight can crashing down on his chest. It was like he suddenly couldn't breathe. Mom's funeral. His mother's funeral. Her body was going to be buried, lost and forgotten underground. It was really happening

"Chris, breathe," Wyatt urged, gently shaking his shoulder. "or you're going to set off the alarms again."

It took all his concentration but eventually, he forced his lungs to relax and his heart rate to return to normal before any of the nurses came rushing into his room. He didn't want them around, fussing over him with their sad, pity-filled glances and sympathetic looks. He could practically hear them thinking "look at the poor baby". They would coddle and ask how he was and he wouldn't be able to explain to them about the new pain in his heart, the one that the morphine couldn't reach. He would have to lie to them and then the sympathy and the pity would start again and he just couldn't deal with it.

"I don't – I can't," Chris stammered, his throat tightening. "Wyatt I-."

"Everything alright in here?"

Oh thank god, Chris thought when Grandpa Victor walked through the door. If there was anyone left in the world he could talk to, it was his grandfather. He never judged or told him he was wrong. He never told him what to do. He would just listen. It surprised Chris when he'd learned that Victor hadn't always been around for his girls when they were growing up. Grandpa Victor had always been there for him; he couldn't imagine his life with him. But then again, he couldn't imagine his life without his mom and here is was, punching him in the gut.

"Chris had a panic attack," Wyatt shrugged nonchalantly. For a moment, Chris thought Victor would challenge them on it, but Wyatt continued before Victor could get a word out. "How did the jail break go?"

Victor sighed and slumped in the chair opposite from Wyatt. Chris suddenly thought he looked old, which was ridiculous because Grandpa Victor had always seemed so young to him, despite his age in years. But the man sitting in that chair looked tired and worn and... sad.

"They wouldn't even consider it," Victor sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Are you freaking serious?" Wyatt exclaimed, annoyance burning in his blue eyes. "They're not going to let him go?"

"It's too much of a risk," Victor explained. "His injuries aren't healed enough for him to be moving around on his own. They're afraid he'll rip his stitches and start bleeding again."

"That's bullshit," Wyatt grumbled as he stood up and walked towards the door. "Don't worry Chris, I'll talk to them. If they think you're missing this, they've got another thing coming."

Chris could only watch as Wyatt stormed out. Chris knew that look very well; it was the look he got when he wanted something and usually, what Wyatt wanted, Wyatt got. Unfortunately for Chris, Wyatt rarely wanted what Chris wanted. And right now, Chris didn't know what he wanted. He knew what he should want, what he should do. It was what any good, grieving son should want: to go to his mother's funeral and cry and pay his last respects. Except... He didn't want this to be his last respects. Not like this, when he was wrapped in bandages with bruises marring his skin. Mom took pride in her family's appearance. He couldn't say goodbye to her like this. He wasn't sure he could say goodbye to her, period, but he damn sure knew he wouldn't say it now when he could barely hold his own head up.

"What're you thinking kid?" Victor asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on Chris' bed.

"I don't want to go!" Chris blurted out.

Victor blinked in surprise and Chris immediately regretted saying anything. God, he was such a miserable excuse for a son. He should just suck it up and go. His mom wouldn't care what he looked like. She would just want him there right? It was only natural, really, that her sons would bury her. But not her fourteen year old son! That wasn't natural; no one should ask him to do that. His head was spinning, spinning in every direction and he couldn't think anymore. His frustration grew until his eyes watered up, tears threatening to fall. He just needed someone to tell him what to do. He looked expectantly at his grandfather. He assumed Victor would tell him he didn't have a choice, that he was going. He almost wanted him to say that, but Victor just smiled sadly and patted Chris' hand.

"You should try to get some rest Chris," Victor said softly. "Today's going to be tough enough as it is, we don't want you making yourself sick."

Relief washed over Chris. It didn't take long before his ever present exhaustion overcame him – being shot will do that to you, he reasoned – and he let himself slip into a half conscious state. He found himself unwilling to move or speak or even think, and though part of him could hear Wyatt and grandpa arguing, but he couldn't necessarily make sense of it. Eventually their fight dissolved and he was left in blissful, dark silence.

He couldn't tell you when he'd fallen asleep, but he knew the exact moment he woke up. I. The world was shaking, tossing him around like a rag doll. Except it wasn't the world that shaking, it was him. And it was his bastard of a brother doing the shaking.

"Get off!" Chris yelled, shoving his brother away, wincing as his brain caught up to the pain that was throbbing in his gut.

"Get up!" Wyatt retorted, throwing a bundle of black clothing at Chris. "Get dressed."

"What the hell is going on Wyatt?"

"I will explain everything late, but right now, you've got about 30 seconds to put on those pants," Wyatt whispered quickly, "or I'm going to orb you to the funeral wearing nothing more than that hospital gown and trust me, little brother, when I say that no one there wants to see your bare ass shining in broad daylight. Get a tan for once in your life, you're going to blind someone one day."

"Whoa, whoa whoa!" Chris sat straight up, more energetic than he had been in days and threw his hands up. A short flick of his wrists and the room went silent. Completely silent. He checked the machines monitoring his life signs and saw that his heart rate had halted on the screen mid-arch. He was fairly confident the frozen state of his room was echoed all across the ICU floor.

"Good idea," Wyatt nodded approvingly. "Too bad that won't stick after we orb out of here. It would make Melinda's part a hell of a lot easier."

"You got Melinda mixed up in this too?" Chris' jaw dropped. Unbelievable.

"It was her idea," Wyatt explained, "Now let's go; you're already late."

Chris stared at Wyatt, at the frantic, manic energy that was pouring his older brother's blue eyes. He really could tell everything about his brother by looking in his eyes. And right now, this is what Wyatt looked like on a mission; completely focused, completely sure and completely unreasonable. He would never understand what Chris was about to say.

"I'm not going."

Wyatt stood perfectly still – Chris almost wondered if he'd been frozen as well. His blue eyes burned with disbelief and betrayal. It wasn't hard to figure him out. Wyatt, as strong as he wanted to appear to everyone else, was just as broken as the rest of them. He needed someone there with him and Chris knew that someone should be him. Wyatt needed his brother at his side. But Chris just couldn't do it. He couldn't face this, not yet.

"What do you mean, you're not going?" Wyatt breathed, each word dangerously clipped and harsh.

An overwhelming guilt settled its' weigh on Chris' shoulders. This was wrong. He could feel it in his gut. He was being selfish and a coward and it was not what his beloved mother raised him to be, but he didn't know how to be that person without her there to show him. Was he ever that person, he wondered. Had he ever been that strong, or was it all just a part he played for her?

"I – I can't," Chris choked on the words. "I can't go."

"You're not worried about the doctors, are you?" Wyatt pressed. "Melinda's taking care of that when we get back. She wrote a damn good spell. We've got it all covered Chris-."

"Wyatt you're not listening to me."

"No," Wyatt interrupted. "No, you're not listening to me. You _are _getting out of this bed and you _are _coming with me, _your brother,_ to _our _mother's funeral. You're going to stand with _our _family and say goodbye."

"I. Can't," Chris hissed, anger seeping into his voice. "I'm not."

"Why the hell not?" Wyatt shouted, breaking Chris' hold over the hospital. The heavy silence lifted as the machines started beeping again, as if they'd never missed a beat.

There wasn't anything he could say that would satisfy Wyatt, unless it was giving in. They were at a stalemate, an impasse. Chris couldn't go and Wyatt wouldn't just simply let him stay. Being brothers used to be so simple. They would fight and argue and wrestle it out so by dinner time, they were back to best friends. But they'd grown up over the years – hell, over the week – and their differences were finally showing. Wyatt's sheer determination versus Chris' stubbornness. It was a fight Chris wasn't sure who would win in the long run, but today, Wyatt was going to have to settle for a draw.

Chris pushed the nurses' call button and glanced apologetically at Wyatt.

"Fuck you," Wyatt growled, dripping with venom as he orbed out.

It took three days before Wyatt would be in the same room as him again, and another two before he would speak. To say their relationship was suddenly tense was an understatement. Chris wished he knew how to make his brother understand, but neither of them would raise the subject. So it got swept under the rug and life resumed as normal as it could. A week and a half after the funeral disaster, Chris was healed up enough to be finally released from the hospital, with a physical therapy schedule in one hand and a prescription of pure hydrocodone for any severe pain he may still have; neither of which he really expected to be using very often, if at all.

He proved himself wrong very quickly, at least in terms of his prescription. The first two days at home weren't so bad, but he hadn't realized exactly how effective the morphine drip had been at cloaking how much his entire body hurt. When he woke up on his third morning home, he was so stiff with pain he had to actually orb the pills into his mouth and dry swallow them. Fortunately, it only took one to take the edge off, allowing him to function. Two, and he would pass out at any given spot 30 minutes later whether he wanted to or not. Sometimes that came in handy at night.

Chris wasn't surprised to learn that Paige and her family had moved into the manor, but what did surprise him was how uncomfortable it made him. With the addition of five new people, even as big as the manor was, eight people in one house was starting to feel crowded, suffocating even. There wasn't really anywhere he could go without someone else being in the same room. And it was loud, always always loud, even at night. So while he was told explicitly and repeatedly that the hydro was for pain management only, for the sake of his sanity, he would use them to fall asleep. Besides, it was like a preemptive strike against the migraine he would have if he didn't sleep. Sort of.

Summer term had started at Magic School while Chris had been recuperating and while Tyler was trying his best to keep Chris caught up in his classes, he was not a tutor or even a good student by any measure which only resulted in Chris falling behind at a rather impressive rate. Which is why after another two weeks at home, Paige was starting to insist he go back to school. He couldn't really argue with her about it. While he was still stiff and tender, the stitches on his chest and shoulders had held together and were starting to fall out on their own, leaving pink-tinged scars in their wake. The set on his abdomen were still raw, but the doctor's had already said that area would take longer to heal. Chris never realized exactly how many everyday actions twisted and pulled and pressed the muscles in that general area, but trust him, it was a lot.

He wasn't sure if his stomach was cramping from his injury, or that fact that Professor Tillman – while that insufferable man was no longer in charge of his homeroom – just happened to be teaching the only per-requisite class required for the Alchemy elective course Tyler had suggested they take in the fall. He had to stop Tyler from making his schedule, Chris decided as he washed down his pill with a bottle of water.

"Mr. Halliwell," Professor Tillman greeted with a slight nod as Chris shuffled into the room. He braced himself for whatever admonishing comment Tillman had prepared for him. "Please take your seat; you'll find your textbook on the desk. We're in Chapter 13, page 176."

That... that he was not expecting. It didn't sit right with him, this civility coming from a man he'd only ever known as a rude sonofabitch. No one else reacted though, taking the polite manner in stride as Tillman continued to lecture, without saying another word to Chris for the entire class.

It was the exact same thing in the next class, and the next. Chris was starting to notice that people were staring at him as well, more so then usual. They would look at him in sympathy and whisper behind their hands and glance back in his direction. Jesus H. Christ, he thought angrily, it had been over a month! A whole month! What could there possibly be left to talk about?

By lunchtime, his frustration was teetering on the edge of insanity. If they weren't being needlessly polite, they were whispering, and if they weren't whispering, they were staring at him, and if they weren't staring at him, they were asking if there was "anything at all" they could do for him. He was this close to magically blinding and muting anyone who so much as breathed on him.

"Um, Chris?"

"What?" He snapped, spinning around his heels to face the unfortunate student who had chosen that moment to garner his attention. "What the hell do you want?"

He literally winced in regret when he realized exactly who he was yelling at for no good reason. He didn't know Sierra very well, only that she was probably the nicest, most sincere person in school. She was tiny, like a bird and, as she was a full-fledged empath, generally kept to herself to avoid the overwhelming emotional drama that ruled the high school wing.

"You – you left your no-notes" Sierra whimpered as she gingerly handed him his forgotten notebook. Her hand was shaking. "I did – didn't want you to get be – behind anymore. I know how str – stressed you are."

He gulped and stared at the book guiltily. "Sierra, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

"It's okay," she breathed as she composed herself. "I know it's – it's been a hard day for you."

She smiled sadly at Chris and she finally stopped shaking. "I'm a good tutor," she said without her stutter. "I can help you catch up if you need someone... you know, besides Tyler."

Chris chuckled at that; he'd decided in second period that Tyler was going to have to be replaced when the pop quiz hadn't been over any of the three chapters he insisted Chris read. And Sierra was the smartest girl in class and sweeter as anyone he knew, if a little wide-eyed. His mom would have liked her.

His stomach clenched again, like it was trying to catch his heart before it fell to the ground. It was happening more often, unwillingly. He would think of his mother in the past tense. It was only natural, logical. Memories and suppositions were all he had left and those were past tense things. But he still hated it.

"You don't have to," Sierra whispered, staring at her feet.

"No," Chris forced the lump in his throat back down. "No, I'd like that. I failed a quiz in Modern English earlier, so I could really use your head."

"I took that class last semester," Sierra said proudly. "I can definitely help with -."

She stopped mid-sentence, her shoulders visibly tensed. A few seconds passed as Chris stared at her quizzically before she blushed furiously and turned her focus to the upperclassmen stomping angrily down the tiled hallway towards the two of them. "Oh no," she breathed and looked apologetically at Chris.

"Did I just hear you hitting on my girlfriend?"

Oh shit. Now Chris was tall for his age, but this guy was just as tall and probably had an extra hundred pounds on Chris' skinny build. Coupled with the fact that he was clearly pissed off about something he thought Chris had done, there was no way this was going to end well. Chris didn't need to be a real empath to figure that one out.

"No," Chris stated simply. "She was just -."

"Oh, she was hitting on you, is that it?"

"No!" Chris argued.

That was a bad move, raising his voice to the bigger guy. As soon as the word left his mouth, he felt a hand being twisted into the collar of his shirt and he was shoved into the wall. The jolt knocked the breath out of him and he struggled to find his legs underneath him for leverage before his shirt proceeded to choke him as well.

"Kyle, stop it!" he heard Sierra plead. Kyle must be the boyfriend, Chris discerned, as the guy's grip slipped from Chris' shirt, leaving Chris gasping against the wall. "Control yourself, please?"

Kyle was shaking too, similar to the way Sierra had been earlier. He walked a few paces away and heaved a few breaths before he came back and settled his too-big hands on Sierra's shoulders. "I'm sorry babe. I'm not good at this empath thing like you are. It's new to me. But he was-."

"He wasn't," Sierra assured him. "I promise you he wasn't."

"I wasn't," Chris agreed hastily.

"I felt it," Kyle insisted. "He likes you and I won't let him steal you away from me."

Chris laughed. In retrospect, that was the worst thing he could have done, but at the time he couldn't help it. He was afraid Chris was going to steal is girlfriend from him? Sure, Sierra was cute and brainy, a bit of a geek like him. Two months ago, she would have been exactly his type, but girls and girlfriends were seriously the furthest thing from his mind right now.

"What are you laughing at, punk?" Kyle roared. "I'm so sick of you damn Halliwells, thinking you can get away with everything just because the Charmed Ones come from your family. Fucking lot of good that is now, with Phoebe a goddamn basket case and Piper shot dead like a wounded animal. Useless excuses for witches, all of you."

"What did you just say?" Chris growled, his jaw clenched, fists forming at his sides.

"I said-."

Kyle didn't get the chance to say anything else as Chris' fist collided with his cheekbone, a satisfying crack echoing off the walls as something broke in Kyle's face. He swung again, connecting with the soft flesh at the temple before kneeing the bigger guy in the stomach, not quite knocking him down, but it was enough to make him double over.

Unfortunately, Kyle recovered quickly and tackled Chris to the ground. Another crack filled the wall; this time it was Chris' skull hitting the linoleum but he was too pumped up on adrenaline to let that slow him down. He lashed out with the thing that came most naturally to him and flung Kyle off of him with his magic. The force was perhaps a bit excessive as Kyle left a dent in the wall where he'd been cannon-balled into it, but the older guy was up before either of them noticed.

Fists flew, magic was cast, and somehow Chris had started yet another fire in the school. Kyle was getting as much as he gave, probably using his unstable empath powers to feed off Chris' pure rage, the likes of which Chris had never felt before. Actually, that wasn't true; he'd encountered this briefly before, but it hadn't been his and it had been sharper, more acute and much more damaging. He could understand how she could have lost herself to this feeling, this power. It was absolutely inspiring. But it was a fast burn and it was fading. No. He wasn't done yet. He needed more of this.

Suddenly, both he and Kyle was flung down opposite side of the corridor by a blast that hadn't come from either of them. Kyle was left phased, but Chris was up almost as fast as he was down and lunged, only to be caught in mid-air and crushed to someone's chest. He didn't know who was holding him back, but they weren't going to be holding him for long.

"Let me go!" Chris screamed. "I'll fucking kill him, I swear to fucking god, I'm going to kill him.

"Christopher Halliwell!" Some part of him acknowledged his Aunt Paige standing between him and Kyle. He didn't care. He tried to orb, but the arms wrapped securely around him acted as an anchor. His orbs flicked and rematerialized without going anywhere.

"Calm down."

The voice was calm and collected. It was carefully controlled to sound soothing but in actuality held no emotion. There was only one person he knew that could talk like that. Fucking bastard, he screamed in his head as he looked up and saw his father's face staring in shock at him. Chris struggled, wanting, needing to be anywhere else but in his father's grasp.

"Don't touch me," Chris hissed, but Leo's grip didn't loosen.

"I'm going to take this away, Chris," Leo whispered, though Chris had no idea what he was talking about. "This is not something you will succumb to."

There was a soft golden glow and slowly, the burning dissipated and Chris began to feel normal and centered. The anger was replaced with a strange sense of peace. His struggles slowed, became sluggish until he felt limp in his father's arms. For a moment, he could almost imagine that this was what it was like to be cared for by his dad, to be held like he was important.

Chris snapped out of it quickly and ducked under Leo's gentler embrace. He stood facing the Elder, breath ragged and deep. There was a painful stitch in his side he tried to ignore. He wasn't going to be weak in front of Leo, wasn't going to need any more help from him.

"Don't touch me," Chris repeated. "And whatever you took away, give it back."

"Your rage threatened to consume you Chris," Leo explained, a certain haunted look in his eyes. "I merely..."

"I don't care; it's mine," Chris said stubbornly.

"It has already been returned to you, Christopher," a second voice chimed in a fashion eerily similar to Leo's. "Anger is a natural course of human emotion, but it must be governed and in certain extreme cases, it is sometimes necessary to, shall we say, hold back the flood."

Chris stared incredulously at the man standing at Leo's shoulder. He was dressed in the robes of an Elder, his muddy brown eyes were set in a permanent squint and his graying brown hair was cut short, but not short enough to hide the slight curl held by the ends. He possessed the same serene features all Elders seemed to have, that ridiculous happy dippy look, as if they'd been hit in the head a few too many times. Except there was a slight smirk to his expression, a twinkle of mystery.

He was almost familiar, except Chris knew without a doubt that he had never met the man in his life.

As if sensing his confusion, the stranger held his hand out from the golden robe, a gesture of friendship. "My name is Gideon," he said by way of introduction.

Chris just started at the hand. Gideon... Wyatt had mentioned a Gideon, so he knew the name, but that didn't explain why he looked familiar. It didn't really matter; Chris would probably see him as often as he saw his father, which was never.

"Chris, please don't rude," Leo stared pointedly at Gideon's hand, indicating that Chris should shake it. Well that settled the matter, Chris scoffed as he turned away from the two elders and proceeded to walk down the hallway, away from the mess he and Kyle had made. He could hear Paige calling after him, feel Leo's stare on his back. And he could hear someone crying, deep wracking sobs that nearly choked him as well. They were coming from Sierra. It dawned on him that she'd been there for the whole thing, that he'd hurt her too, at least emotionally. She didn't deserve it. He started to run as fast as he could and when he reached his limit, he dissolved into a bright, flickering mass of blue and white lights.

Home. He just wanted to go home. So how he ended up at his grandfather's house was a mystery. He was aiming for the manor but instead found himself standing in the middle of his grandpa's kitchen. But instead of finding the older man, it was his Aunt Phoebe who stood frozen at the sink, brandishing a heavy carving knife in Chris' direction. He would've laughed if he wasn't about to collapse into a pile of tears.

"You're going to scare the life out of me Chris," Phoebe sighed dramatically, the knife clattering to the counter. "What happened to you?"

Chris looked down, His white shirt was marred with gray and black singe marks and dark maroon splotches of blood. He poked experimentally at a particularly large and particular bright red spot and flinched when he realized he was poking at his stitches, or rather, where his stitches should have been. His face was starting to feel hot and tight, a sure sign of swelling. He'd been hit more than he thought, he reasoned. His left knee was folding in half and suddenly his legs didn't seem to want to hold him up anymore. He grasped at the door frame and lowered himself heavily on the ground, one leg stretched out across the threshold. He popped his pill bottle open and swallowed the little white tablet before propping his head up in his good, bended knee.

"I got into a fight," he whispered with a dry laugh.

"Oh honey," Phoebe sighed again, kneeling down next to him with a wash cloth and started wiping the blood off Chris' face. At that moment, it didn't matter that he wasn't close to this aunt. Her touch was gentle and kind and so reminiscent of Piper's that he could almost pretend for a moment that it was really his mom.

Aunt Phoebe had been a good mom, he recalled, a great mom. And he took that from her. Maybe... that's why... maybe that's why Piper had been taken from him. An eye for an eye, so to speak. The thought was just too much for Chris. He started to cry. Huge, breath-robbing sobs. Tears that were so sharp and painful, they brought more tears with them. His entire body shook with the force of his grief. He was making awful, sickening gurgling sounds in the back of his throat but he couldn't stop. Every inch of him was drowning in sorrow and guilt and blame. He wanted to drown in it, to never come back. Everything would stop hurting if he could just drown.

Please let me drown, he thought as he felt Phoebe's arms wrap securely around his shoulders, pulling his head above the surface. She whispered nonsensical nothings in his ears, things he couldn't make out. It didn't matter what she said; it couldn't help him. She was comforting a murderer.

"I'm sorry," Chris gasped, tasting his own tears as they flowed past the corners of his lips. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. Chris, it's okay," Phoebe promised, smoothing his hair from his forehead.

"It's not!" he cried, burying his head further into his knee, bringing up his hands to cover what that didn't. "I can't be. You don't know what I did."

"Whatever you did, we can fix it," Phoebe assured him.

"No, we can't. It's done. It's broken."

She didn't say anything else, just held him as he continued to weep. The full body sobs eventually lessened until he was just silently crying. At one point, he stretched the rest of his body across the floor and rested his head in his aunt's lap, his arms circled around her waist as she quietly stroked his hair. They sat like that for minutes, for hours, he wasn't sure.

"Aunt Phoebe?" he finally croaked, his voice raw and ragged but still managing to sound like he was five years old again. "Am I being punished?"

The hand in his hair stopped abruptly and she shifted her knees so that he was forced to turn over on his back and look straight up at her. "For what Chris?"

He didn't know how to explain all he was thinking to her. The idea of even trying made his eyes grow heavy. So instead of answering, he let them close, letting the last few tears that had formed fall. He could feel the salt prick at his skin, rolling down his cheeks, but he was too exhausted to brush them away. So he left them fall and swore to himself they would be the last ones he cried.

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**_Diana: _**I would have answered your questions earlier, except you were not logged in with your review. I'm sorry you had to wait, but thank you for reading... I have good news and bad news for you. The bad news is, Piper does have a daughter in this fanfiction, as she does in the series. The good news is, with the exception of a few mentions here and there in a few early chapters, her daughter does not make any actualy appearances. This story is going in a definitive direction with Chris that does not include her and since this is strictly a Chris-centric story, the story goes with him... keeping that in mind, with regards to my OC, because of the direction this story has to take, he will be a supporting character. I don't know what level of involvement is considered "a big role" for you, but he will be around. It may help to think of him as a new character in a new pilot series. I hope this doesn't put you off; but if it does, I still love you for reading what you did and giving me such kind words about it.

**AN2:** I love getting your reviews and I try really hard to answer each one and to answer all of your questions, as long as it doesn't spoil my story, of course. It's best to leave a logged-in review so I can respond, but if you don't, I will do my best to try to answer you when the next chapter comes out. Don't be shy;I greatly appreciate anything you have to say, even if you just drop in to tell me to update (I'm trying! I'm trying!).


	4. Long Division

**Disclaimer: **Sill not mine.

**AN: **Yep. It's been a little while. Yep. I have reasons/excuses. Yep. You can read them at the bottom if you like.

**RECAP: **_(in case you've forgotten all about me) _Magic is no longer secret, following the Exposure, a battle on the Golden Gate Bridge between the underworld and the forces of good magic. Amongst the casualties were Phoebe's husband and children and she swore of magic. A few years later, Chris is 14 and Piper is dead, shot by humans in an anti-magic radical group. Chris is falling apart and didn't go to her funeral after having a big fight with Wyatt about it. He later went on to have a big fight at school with a random newbie empath in which he totally kicked ass and then yelled at his father and insulted Gideon. He then proceeded to have a near nervous breakdown in his grandfather's kitchen and found comfort in Phoebe's arms, despite the fact he has never let himself get close to her. He starts to wonder if this is somehow payback for his part in the deaths of Phoebe's family... moving on!

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**_Open my heart, feel it slow. - The Morning Of; "Heaven or Hell"_

**Chapter Three: Long Division**

**August 2018**

"He needs to be with his family Victor."

"I'm his grandfather Leo! I am family."

They had been at each others throats arguing for the last ten minutes – at least, that's how long Chris had been sitting at the bottom of the stairs listening – and it didn't sound like they were going to stop anytime soon. It wasn't exactly surprising. It had been roughly a month since he made the decision to leave the magically restored manor and live with his grandfather in San Mateo, and the rest of his family had been in an uproar ever since then. Never mind that it was a 30 minutes car ride either direction and forget the fact that half his family had orbing abilities that could make the trip in 30 seconds; Chris was suddenly the cause of his family's newest dysfunction. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if Chris hadn't also decided to drop out if Magic School and attend the local public school. So no, the arguing itself wasn't all that surprising. Leo's interest in the matter, was.

"He needs to be with his brother and sister. They can help him," Chris heard Leo say, his voice full of genuine concern. It was such a different side of Leo. It reminded him of the stories his mom had told him about what Leo used to be like. She said he used to be kind and gentle and loving to everyone he came across. He used to be loyal and protective and would go to the ends of the earth for the people he cared about. It was like a fairy tale to Chris, to hear those stories about his father, but he couldn't for the life of him recall experiencing it for himself. He almost convinced himself he was dreaming, but he never dreamed of his dad. Well he did but it usually involved things Chris never had the courage to say and were a bit on the violent side.

"This is not something I expect you to understand Victor," Leo continued. "They have a... unique bond, especially Wyatt and Chris. It strengthens and protects them. It creates a balance for them. Simply put, they need each other. I'm... afraid for my sons and what could happen if they grow apart."

Chris resisted the urge to look around the corner. That couldn't really be Leo, could it? The voice was his, but the words... the worry of a father, the fear, the concern – it was just too surreal. Leo never did this, not for Chris. It just never happened. Ever. And for the first time in a long time, Chris allowed himself to wonder maybe he might be right.

"The effects it could have on their magic-."

Of fucking course, Chris seethed. It wasn't about him. It's never about him. It's about the magic, the greater good...

"I don't give a rat's ass about their magic Leo!" Victor shouted.

"Then think about Wyatt!"

… and about Wyatt.

"He needs his brother!"

Never about him.

"I think it's you that doesn't understand Leo," Victor hissed. "Chris-."

"I do not need your help in understanding my son."

"The hell you don't!" Victor yelled as the clatter of a chair hitting linoleum filled the air. Chris pictured his grandfather knocking it down, trying to appear intimidating. It used to work on him when he was younger, before he knew it was mostly bluff. There was a shuffling of feet and Victor's voice dropped to a deadly serious whisper that Chris had to strain to hear. "Let's make a deal, you and I. You go on doing what you've always done and look after Wyatt and I'll continue being there for Chris. Shouldn't be a big change for you."

"That is not fair," Leo protested. "I have been there for both of my sons as often as I can."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The familiar sound of dissolving orbs filled the air and Chris knew Leo was gone. He smirked, hoping Victor had embarrassed him in front of all his Elder buddies. Not many humans could force an Elder out of their homes. Not many humans knew many Elders, but still. He unfolded his long legs and stood up, walking into the kitchen.

"Elders don't sleep," he said and a surprised Victor stumbled over the chair he was trying to pick up. Chris caught him by the arm and steadied the older man before he could fall. Not his best idea, he decided. "Sorry," he grimaced.

"I didn't think you were awake yet," Victor sighed and sat down. "I- well you weren't really supposed to hear that."

"Hear what?" Chris scoffed. "That I'm screwing up Wyatt and magic and the whole world because I moved out for awhile? I've heard it before."

"You've never moved out before Chris." Victor pointed out.

"Context isn't really that important," he shrugged. "It basically boils down to me being a selfish bastard."

"Chris, language."

"Sorry."

There was an awkward pause. It seemed like Victor wanted to say something and he wasn't sure how. Chris recognized the look, all adults had it and it was usually something he didn't want to hear. But until Victor was ready to speak up, Chris occupied himself with the reason he'd come downstairs in the first place; he was dying of thirst.

As he grabbed a water bottle out of the refrigerator, Victor cleared his throat and said "I think your father means well."

What? Chris kept his back turned to his grandfather, his grip tightening on the plastic bottle, crunching the ridges together. "I thought you were on my side."

"I'm always on your side," Victor insisted. "Yes, Leo's insufferable sometimes, but what I mean is... Chris, it's easy for me to understand him. Remember I used to be the deadbeat dad. He loves you, but I don't think he really knows how to... express that and it comes across like he has ulterior motives."

"He does," Chis growled through gritted teeth.

"But he has them for your sake," Victor said. Chris resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he stomped across the room to the medicine cabinet; less than an hour into his day and he already had a migraine. He popped the top off his prescription and slipped two of the tablets under his tongue. He'd gotten a lot of his strength back and he no longer fell asleep after taking two pills but that didn't mean he still didn't need them. The stitches were long gone but there was a constant ache deep in his muscle. It started when he woke up and built up in intensity over the course of the day. Some days, it was so heavy, it felt like he would collapse like he did after the fight with Kyle at Magic School. Other days... well other days it was better, but that didn't give anyone room to poke at it and that's exactly what it felt like as he listened to his beloved grandfather stick up for his useless dad.

"Son, you can stay here as long as you need," Victor concluded, placing a warm hand on Chris' shoulder. "I want you to and to be honest, I like the company. But... just... don't cut yourself off from your family. Especially Wyatt. I don't know much about magic, but it's always been obvious to me that you two are connected. It reminds me... well, it reminds me of your mother and her sisters."

Chris knew he was right; he was always right. He gulped down the rest of his water and pulled his grandfather into a hug. "I'll go see him right now, okay?"

"Now? Chris you start school today."

"So does he, which means he'll be awake," Chris explained. "I promise I'll get get back in time for class."

With that, Chris grabbed his bag and orbed out of the kitchen. He blinked and was in Wyatt's bedroom. At least, it used to be Wyatt's room and unless his brother's tastes had taken a sudden turn to pink lace and rose-scented incense, Chris was willing to bet it no longer was. Before it became Wyatt's room it belonged to...

"Chris you scared the life out of me!"

He cringed. Phoebe. Of all the people to accidentally drop in on, it would be Phoebe. Things were better between them, but it was still hard to be around her. She was trying harder than she had in years to look after him, asking about what he was thinking, saying he should talk about whatever was on his mind. She called more, texted more. It was easier when she thought he hated her.

"Is everything okay? Do you need to talk about it?" she asked, placing a cautious hand on his shoulder. He shrugged and her hand fell and he looked away so he didn't have to see her face crumble as well. Yes, it was easier when she didn't try. He didn't intend to hurt his aunt but it was just... God, it was just so hard. Whatever tenuous connection he had to his aunt now could be destroyed instantly if he had another meltdown. If she knew the truth... she could never know.

"Nothing's wrong, I'm fine," Chris mumbled, looking around the room. "I just came to see Wyatt."

"Ah," Phoebe nodded, pointing to the ceiling. "He moved into the attic."

"With the Book?" Chris asked, his eyebrows bunching together. "Isn't that kind of... high traffic?"

"You would think so, but no one really goes up there anymore," Phoebe explained. "It took us about 15 years but we finally memorized the good spells. Besides, it's been passed on to you and Wyatt now that... well you're the next generation and all."

"I... that's good, I guess. I mean Wyatt can keep it for now," Chris whispered, avoiding Phoebe's direct stare. She sighed and stepped forward and before Chris knew it had happened, pulled her nephew into a hug. One hand cradled the back of his neck and the other rested on his shoulder, warm and comforting. It felt of home, of every good thing there ever was in the world. He wanted so badly to put his arms around Phoebe and return the embrace, but if he moved even an inch, the dull throbbing pain would flair up, shattering the lie her arms created.

"It's okay Chris," Phoebe whispered into his ear. "I understand. I think more than anyone, I understand what you're doing."

"What am I doing?" he asked.

"You know..." Phoebe smiled sadly and moved her hands to cup the sides of his face. "You look so much like her, you know. It's almost like getting to see your mother again."

Chris blanched. All his life he'd heard the remarks and comparisons of his looks to Piper. He used to hate it when he was younger; thought people were saying he looked like a girl. He hated it now, for a different reason. Now the comparisons made him feel guilty, like he was taking her away all over again.

"I... I need to talk to Wyatt," he said before orbing shakily out of the room and into the attic. He could see Wyatt digging around in an old chest, his back to the door. Chris took a quick look around the room as he composed himself – she hadn't been kidding; Wyatt was really living up here. His bed was pushed against the wall that boasted the potions cabinet and and an old chest of drawers had been cleaned out and was now overflowing with his clothes. A whole entertainment center had been set up across the room where the old couch used to be. But the Book of Shadows lay open in its spot, centered on the floor in front of the stained glass windows.

"The attic, huh?" Chris asked.

"You're only mad because you didn't think of it first," Wyatt retorted without even looking up from his search. "I got the best room in the house and you're hiding out at grandpa's."

"Nice to see you too," Chris grumbled.

"What was that?"

"The TV looks new."

"It is," Wyatt, with a stack of parchment clenched in his fist, stood up and grinned at his brother. "And yeah, it's good to see you."

Chris chuckled and started rifling through Wyatt's book bag that lay open on his bed as Wyatt stepped behind a dressing screen and started pulling jeans out of his drawers. He pulled out a slip of paper headed with the official Magic School coat of arms and skimmed down the page.

"You only have three classes this year."

"I'm a senior, I'm almost done."

"Yeah but you've got four blocks of independent study. That's a full schedule."

"So?"

"I thought the plan was to take it easy your last year."

Wyatt came from behind the screen, his smile and his eyes were suddenly guarded. "I'm working on something and I need the library for it," he admitted, slipping a shirt over his head.

"For the school?"

"You could say that."

"Or I could say..."

"Think of it as a senior project," Wyatt smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Think of it as a long time coming. You could help you know?"

Chris sighed; he knew it. Wyatt had been relatively okay when Chris moved out, but he'd nearly knocked out the electricity for the whole block when Chris told him he wouldn't be returning to Magic School and ever since then had been on his case about it. Always coming up with reasons to go, logical reasons, impractical reasons. Hell he'd even ordered Chris to go back. "I'll kick your ass all the way up the stairs" he'd promised.

"I don't have any free periods," Chris explained and reached inside his own bag for his schedule, waving the slip of paper, knowing that Wyatt wouldn't even glance at it anyway.

"Transfer and you'd have at least two," Wyatt argued.

"I'm not transferring Wyatt," Chris said as he struggled with the zipper on his bag before realizing his pills were blocking the zipper from closing. He palmed the small bottle and shook it, dumping the pills out into his other hand. He might need a refill soon, he thought.

"How many of those have you taken today?" Wyatt asked, his tone flat and emotionless, but Chris knew better. When Wyatt spoke like that, he was suspicious and worried.

"None," Chris lied. "The bottle doesn't fit in my bag. I'm just putting them in the pocket."

Wyatt nodded. "You shouldn't be on that shit anyway. It'll screw with your powers."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing I won't be using them for awhile," Chris announced before the thought properly registered in his mind. That was definitely not something he had meant to tell Wyatt. The atmosphere shifted instantly. It became tense and heavy and stormy as Chris watched the frustration build up in Wyatt's eyes. It wasn't really his fault, Chris knew. Wyatt was always the one to face things head on, no matter what it was. He'd always pushed Chris to be more like him, to see things in the black and white like he did. For Wyatt, there had never been any gray. Strong people fought, weak people ran. And Chris... Chris had run and embarrassed his brother by doing so.

"I'm sorry," Chris breathed. "I just... I don't know how to explain this to you Wyatt."

"You've already tried," Wyatt shrugged. "You're confused and lost and blah blah blah, whatever. It doesn't give you the right to desert me."

"You have dad," Chris rebutted. "And the rest of the family is here! Paige and Phoebe and Melinda-."

"And none of them are my brother!" Wyatt yelled. The old chandelier shook above their heads, sparking as the magic bounced off the old wires. They glanced at each other, Chris begging Wyatt to calm down and Wyatt blaming Chris for the electrical short in the first place.

Chris gulped. Maybe this is what Leo had been talking about, about how the brothers balanced each other. But Chris needed Wyatt to understand, to really understand why Chris had to go off on his on. It wasn't just Wyatt, or the family, or the loss of his mother. It was everything. And it was smothering him. He just needed an out. "I'm... I'm not going to stop being your brother. I just need to stop being a Halliwell. Just for a little while."

Chris had been prepared for his brother to be angry, but he was not ready for the defeatist looked that crawled over Wyatt's face. "It's not the same Chris," he said sadly, sinking down on the bed next to him.

"Did you know I was kidnapped?" Wyatt asked. Chris shook his head and Wyatt took a deep breath before continuing, staring off in the distance at something Chris couldn't see. "They don't talk about it, but it was right around the time you were born... I was about two or something and I was down in the underworld for weeks before they finally found me. They... they don't know I remember this. I don't remember all of it, like how I got there in the first place. I just remember being scared and alone and having to fight and hide. So... Chris, I understand what it feels like to be lost. I get it."

Chris just hung his head. He didn't know what to say. He was used to being the one with secrets, with holding them in. Now he was discovering that Wyatt had some of his own. Defining secrets, secrets that – if they were anything like his own – had probably changed however he might have been. It shouldn't be that surprising, he guessed. They were a family of witches; by classic definition, they lived in secret.

"But I ran home. And you're running away and I guess that's the part I can't understand."

Phoebe's voice ran through his head - _"more than anyone, I understand" _- and Chris finally grasped onto her words. He hadn't realized it before but that he was doing by removing himself was no different than what she had do when she swore off magic. Nobody had really understood it either. Oh they knew the reasons why, but they still wondered from time to time how she could just cut herself off from something that was part of her, part of who she was.

They weren't so different, Chris realized. For barely knowing her, she knew him.

"I should go," Chris said, slinging his bag across his shoulder. "I just wanted to see you before we got busy with school."

"Yeah, I've got to make a phone call before I get there anyway. For an all powerful school, they sure have-"

"Shit phone service," they said together as Wyatt dialed the phone.

"Get out of here," Wyatt grinned as Chris chuckled. "And don't go getting into any trouble. Watch your back."

"If you stop worrying, I will," Chris agreed as he reached the top of the stairs. Wyatt's muffled voice followed him all the way down and he could vaguely make out the words "ask you a favor" before he was completely out of earshot. He rounded the corner and saw Phoebe leaning against her bedroom door.

"You're going to be late if you don't hurry," Phoebe said.

"Yeah I'm on my way," Chris spoke quickly and walked past her, heading for the second flight of stairs but as he did, something tugged at him. He stopped short. _"I understand" _Phoebe's voice said in his conscience, whistling softly through his ear. And he knew, deep in his soul, that she did. And she deserved more from him than an a few tears and an awkward hug.

He spun around. "Aunt Phoebe!"

Phoebe stumbled over the door frame as she turned around to meet him. It must have startled her when he called to her. When he was close enough he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. It was an act he'd kept reserved specially for his mother when she was alive, but Phoebe, she deserved it. And he owed it to her.

"Thank you," he said and allowed himself to smile as she blushed. "Got to run," he added as he orbed out. He could hear Phoebe laughing as he exited the manor and followed his orbs as they raced across San Francisco toward his new school building.

It was bigger that he'd expected, even for a public school, and if he was going to pass himself off as a normal functioning member of the mortal variety, he knew he'd have to be careful where he orbed in and out of. So while his grandfather was busy registering him, Chris scoped out the perfect place to orb in undetected, the lighting rafters above the school's theater. No one used before lunch and should be completely deserted in the morning. In theory, it was fool-proof.

But he knew something had gone wrong the minute his body started to reform. He was immediately knocked off balance and thrown heavily on the steel banister, knocking the wind out him as he collapsed onto the narrow walkway. His breath hitched and he suddenly realized there was a weight on his chest that wasn't his own.

The weight rolled off him and Chris sat up, finding himself pinned to the ground by hard, angry eyes of steel and bronze, flashing dangerously in the low light. Chris flinched as an open fist flew past his vision and crashed onto the metal walkway. An arm, all lean muscle, yanked something from under his feet. He watched as the other person stood up, every moment jerky, almost like a spasm. His jaw was set in a concrete line. Even his close cropped brown hair seemed to be standing on end in anger.

"Goddamn blind fucking asshole," his voiced seemed to hiss and growl at once. "Watch where you pull that magic shit!"

Chris snapped out of his stupor and he sprang to his feet, wrestling his own bag from around the other guy's legs. "Well if you didn't show up out of the middle of nowhere, maybe-" he tried to yell but his breath was still coming in pants. Oh Christ, his side hurt.

"Ah fuck, you can't even breathe," the guy laughed. It was light and amused, the malice instantly evaporated from his voice. "You're going to be the tough guy here?"

"I don't need to breathe to take you," Chris snapped. "I don't even need to see you."

"You have no damn idea who you're fucking with kid," he half-growled, though his tone was still laced with that strange amusement.

"Neither do you."

They stood opposite of each other, squared off as they sized the other up. Up close, Chris could see that his initial impressions weren't far off. The guy was tall, though not much taller than Chris was himself. He wasn't bulky, but he seemed to be all muscle. Long and lean and sturdy. His hair wasn't dark exactly, but rather that strange middle color between blonde and brown, like wet sand. Chris was sure he'd imagine the eye color as a trick of light, but no; a strange star-burst of silver cut through the deep bronze of his iris. It was like nothing Chris had ever seen before on anyone.

Chris blinked first and the other smirked, a self-satisfied and cocky twist of his lips as he spoke. "I think you and I could get along," he smiled a wide grin and extended his hand towards Chris. "Name's Gabe Amanti."

"Did you hit your head?" Chris asked incredulously.

"Might have," Gabe shrugged, still grinning. "What difference does that make?"

"I guess it doesn't," he responded and shook Gabe's still extended hand. "Chris Hal... Perry."

"Halperry?"

"Perry. Chris Perry."

Not Halliwell. Not here. Chris imagined it would be hard to say the first time, that it would tear and rage against his chest in betrayal but instead it felt... free. Chris Perry was not a murderer. He was not a grieving son. He was not a traitourous brother. Chris Perry was tabula rasa, a blank slate. He was a brand new day.

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****AN2: **As you may have noticed, this update took a bit longer getting up and here are the insanely boring reasons why. 1) I've had summer classes and they've been eating up my free time. 2) I got promoted at work, which is also eating up my free time. 3) My uncle got married. 4) My baby sister graduated high school. 5) Fighting with my father is all kinds of exhausting. 6) Kicking my roommate out so the apartment manager doesn't evict me as well is also exhausting. 7) Cleaning up after said roommate takes about 3 days, excluding time out for eat, sleep, work and study. 8) I have a few other projects that have been feeling neglected. 9) I had to finish reading Looking For Alaska by John Green before I could concentrate on anything else. 10) I had to finish my Danny Phantom drawing because I love Danny Phantom. 11) I rescued a kitten and named him Emo and he's a tiny little monster. 12) I don't really have a 12 but I feel like I'm on a roll here and 12 is just a nice even number, but for the sake of having another "reason" to justify having a number, Logan Lerman is hot and very distracting (and also rumored to play Charlie in the "Perks of Being a Wallflower" movie and there could not be better choice in my mind so I'm ridiculously excited about that).

_(and we all take a deep breath)_

It was a _little _bit shorter than normal – my usual is 10 pages, and this was 8 – but I really wanted to get something out to you guys. Can't say when the next update will be, but I hope it'll be sooner than this one. Just stick with me, I promise it's coming.


	5. Eventually As Usual

**Disclaimer: **Sill not mine.

**Author's Notes below. I won't bore you up here.**

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_If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there. - Lewis Carroll_

**Chapter Four: Eventually As Usual**

God, he was loud, Chris thought angrily as he heard Gabe's voice carry all the way down the packed hallway. That son of a bitch was going to ruin his life before it even started and he didn't even have the decency to be quiet about it.

He glared as he watched Gabe – a senior, he'd figured out – speak animatedly to a large group of friends around him, throwing his arms up in the air and laughing at what ever story he was telling. Girls giggled and stared at him adoringly as he and a few guys started shoving each other, laughing loudly.

Even though everyone seemed focused on Gabe, Chris could swear they were staring at him, the same way they had been all day. It tickled the back of his neck, rolled his stomach. It was like he couldn't get away from their eyes. He had stuck to the plan. Be normal; not too smart, not dumb. Don't attract any attention. Keep your head down, and blend. Make it through the day without making any kind of impression. Don't be a Halliwell. Be Chris Perry. He'd done everything he was supposed to do, but still, they kept staring!

And it was all _his _damn fault, he growled internally as pushed his way through the circle until he was standing directly in front of Gabe.

"Hey! I need to talk to you," he shouted over the din.

"Hold on a second," Gabe said, barely glancing at Chris.

"Now," Chris insisted.

Gabe turned and stared at him, a hint of amusement sparkling in his strange eyes before turning his attention back to the suddenly quiet crowd. He was amazingly charismatic, Chris realized, maybe even more so than Wyatt. In a single glace, Gabe seemed to meet everyone's eyes and like a switch had been pulled, the crowd instantly thinned as they started saying their goodbyes and going separate ways. Chris watched Gabe exchanged several high fives and laters before he reached for his own sling, only to find Chris' foot firmly planted on it.

"What the hell, man?" Gabe asked, tugging at the strap.

"What the hell is your problem?" Chris hissed.

"As of this moment? You're standing on my fucking bag."

"What have you been saying about me?"

"About you?" Gabe laughed. "I haven't said shit about you."

"Then why is everyone staring at me?"

Gabe just stared pointedly at him, the bronze and silver of his eye heavy and solid. "Well if you're going around acting like a paranoid bi-polar banshee on an acid trip, who could blame them?"

Chris suddenly felt foolish. Gabe had a point. Ever since their run-in, Chris had been a little bit on edge, casting one eye over his shoulder. It was possible he _was _just being paranoid, building things up into something they weren't. He did tend to have a flair for the dramatic, to manifest his feelings to the point of insanity. But it just felt so... obvious.

"Just tell me you didn't tell anyone what you saw this morning," Chris sighed, calmer.

"Look around," Gabe said, gesturing to the empty hallway. "Does it look like anyone knows you? It's the first damn day of school; there's a whole new class of freshmen and transfer students. No one cares."

"Can you keep it that way?" Chris insisted.

"Jesus... you're not the first witch I've met," Gabe whispered, leaning against the lockers behind him as he ran a hand through his short sandy hair.

"Still," he pressed. He knew he was being neurotic, but Chris needed to hear him say it. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone."

"You'd appreciate it..." Gabe trailed off, chuckling and shaking his head. "God you're high maintenance. It's worse than that week I worked at the Ritz."

"It's not a joke, Gabe. I'm serious."

"Whatever!" Gabe exclaimed "If it keeps you from running off the edge of a cliff, I'll keep your precious little secret. I'll even gift wrap it and put it in the back of the closet for Christmas if it makes you feel better. But you have to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"Get off my goddamn bag!"

Chris rolled his eyes and kicked the strap from under his foot. As he did, he realized the entire hall had emptied. Not one single person has stayed behind to listen in on Chris and Gabe. There was no way in hell public school was so different from Magic School. Teenagers were nosy gossips, no matter where they went to school. Maybe he had accidentally warded everyone away? Wyatt had done that once during midterms last year. Or maybe he was imagining that along with the feeling of being watched. Whatever it was, it was downright weird.

"So what was that anyway?" Gabe asked, picking his bag up off the ground.

"What was what?"

"That thing this morning," Gabe persisted, following Chris down the hall. "You know, with all the lights and the appearing out of nowhere."

"It's none of your business," Chris shrugged.

"Oh come on, if you're going to freak right the fuck out over the idea that I might possibly tell everyone you're a _witch_," Gabe said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, though Chris was positive he was making fun of him, "I at least should know what you're all stressed out about."

"It's a spell, okay?" Chris lied as he opened his locker and started shifting through his bag, pulling out the books he wouldn't need. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Gabe said. "Witch is the new vampire; all the girls want one. If I were you, I'd use it to my advantage."

"It doesn't seem to me like you have those kind of problems," Chris said, thinking back to the huge crowd from earlier.

"I have other tricks," Gabe smirked.

"Sure," Chris tried not to grin, but he couldn't help it. "I'm not really a witch anyway," he said. It was a lie, a blatant, massive, huge lie, but one he'd decided to start telling.

"Bullshit," Gabe scoffed.

"What do you mean bullshit?"

"Have you taken Occult Science?" Gabe asked.

"Say what?" Chris choked. What kind of public mortal high school actually offered classes on magic?

"That's a no," Gabe drawled. "It's this elective social science course that most schools have. It breaks down all the science behind being a supernatural being. It really only explains a witch's origin. Not demons you know, or anything that's not based on human DNA, but turns out some of those DNA sequences in the genome are actually formulas. Magic formulas.

"See, most people thought it was just a matter of tapping into that 90% of the brain none of us use, but it's actually genetic. At least, that's the theory. They can't seem to replicate it in a lab, so there's something missing that's not in the simple DNA, but it's probably the same reason we can't make synthetic water and shit.

"My point is, there's no 'not really' to being a witch," Gabe concluded. "You either are or you aren't. It's in your blood, you know."

"That's... insane," Chris muttered.

"Are they wrong?"

"I... I don't know," Chris admitted. "I've just never thought about it."

"Some kids get the red hair gene, others get the aura reading gene."

"I'm getting that this whole thing is very interesting for you," Chris sighed, "but I'm not about to be your case study, okay?"

"Good lord, you've got an ego," Gabe laughed, slapping his hand down on Chris' shoulder. Chris winced as the sting spread down his chest. A dull throb began around the holes in his shoulder, and from experience, he knew it would only get more intense as the day wore on.

"I'm serious Gabe. I'm not practicing at all."

"I was just making conversation dude," Gabe said. "You've got to lighten up if we're going to be hanging out, my friend."

"Friend? You barely know me."

"But I know everyone," Gabe grinned. "And I figure if you're going to make it a habit to assault me every day, I should at least know who you are."

"I did not assault you," Chris laughed.

"You did. Twice," Gabe argued. "Seriously man, I'm all wounded and shit."

"Your ego, maybe," Chris retorted.

"See, you know me already," Gabe said with another crooked grin. Chris just shook his head; as much as he hated to admit it, the guy was funny. And just because he was starting a new school didn't mean he had to be a total social outcast. He could be normal and have normal friends. It's not like it could hurt, right? He could make the effort.

"Damn it!" Gabe shouted, looking down at his cell phone, typing furiously on the keypad.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. I'm late," Gabe said quickly as he took off jogging down the hall. "See you around Ritz."

Gabe had barely rounded the corner when Chris realized he'd left his bag on the ground next to Chris' locker. "Hey!" Chris yelled and ran after him, but when he reached the corner, Gabe was nowhere to be seen, It was barely even a three second head start. It like he'd disappeared into thin air, leaving Chris alone in the empty school with two book bags, an aching shoulder, and the returning nagging feeling that he really was being watched.

Chris sighed and ducked into the nearest bathroom. The school was empty, he didn't really need to go all the way back to the theater to orb home, but he still wanted to be sure he wasn't going to be caught on one of the security cameras or something. After doing a quick sweep and finding no nearby cameras and double-checking that there was no one around hiding in the stalls, he let his body break apart and dissolve into the flurry of blue and white.

When he reformed, he was in the kitchen and noticed two things. One, was the sandwich setting on the counter wrapped in cellophane and the other was the the bright yellow piece of paper folded in half bearing his name. He unfolded the note first.

_"Chris. You're probably laughing at me or thinking that I'm treating you like a baby. I had some errands to do, some things I forgot about. I didn't want you to come home to an empty apartment on your first day of school, but I don't think I'll make it back before you get home. I'll be back as soon as I can. Grandpa._

_P.S. I made you a sandwich. Your mom said you're always hungry when you get out of school."_

He glanced at the sandwich. It was the wrong kind; he didn't like roast beef. He wasn't really hungry, but it was a nice gesture and he'd feel guilty if he just left it on the counter, so he threw it into his bag, grabbed a soda out of the refrigerator and headed upstairs.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Who's spying on me?"

He wasn't imagining it, he was sure of it. As soon as he'd orbed home, the presence all but disappeared. It lingered, like a badly cloaked spell and the more he thought back on the day, the more obvious it was to him. It was kind of embarrassing that it had taken him so long to put it all together. The way it followed him all day, seemed heavier when he was alone, except when he was home.

Under his bed was a "spell box" his sister had made for him when he moved out. He couldn't refuse her, and even he had to admit it was foolish to not have a few supplies hidden around. It's not like Victor knew what a witch needed to cast spells or make potions. He hadn't expected to use it so soon though. He wasn't even sure what was in there. He wasn't surprised to find it well equipped though.

It had been lined with one of the family's blessed alter clothes and miniature white candles rolled around the bottom. Vials of lavender and mercury and thistle and other odds and ends sat nestled tightly in one corner, bound together by several silver scrying chains, three with the classic crystal quartz attached to the end, one with amethyst, and one with onyx. A long, thin double bladed athame lay in a sheath across the length of the side. There were simple needles, some warding crystals and tucked tightly between the panels on the top of the box were 30 or so handwritten notes: spells copied straight of the Book of Shadows. A few common vanquishing potions and spells, protections charms, calling a witch, blood bonds; she had thought of everything, it seemed like.

He selected three of the miniature candles and looked for a pack of matches. He found some lodged under a black box, velvet in texture, like a jewelry box. It wasn't a typical item, so he pulled it out with the matches. The tiny hinges squeaked as he opened the lid. At first, it just looked like another silver chain nestled on the black pillow inside until his fingers brushed over something hard and cold in the center.

It was the necklace. The one from his birthday. He thought it had gotten lost in the madness of that morning, but apparently someone had found it. The light from the window shone right through it, making it nearly invisible if not the the diamond-like sheen it gave off. The energy was as strong as he remembered it being the first time he'd held it, but it felt different this time. It still offered a sense of comfort, but it was sadder, heavier. Like it was grieving for it's loss as well.

Chris placed it back in its box and started to put the whole thing back under his bed but he stopped. He thought he'd lost the necklace once, he wouldn't want to forget it again. So instead of shoving it out of sight, he slipped the case on his bedside table next to the lamp. That way he'd know where it was.

He grabbed the candles and matches and headed to the bathroom. He set two of the candles against the mirror, and lit the wicks. The flames licked at surface, marring the reflection with black soot. Chris held the other candle in his hand so they were more or less arranged in a triangle. He lit the third candle and stared directly into the mirror.

_"I ask the power of light_  
_Disperse the shadows from my sight_  
_Reveal to me the eyes_  
_of the one who upon me spies."_

The overhead lights flickered and the tiny flames erupted. An invisible hand seemed to direct the smoke as it twisted and swirled around the surface of the mirror. The smoke from the candle in his hand enveloped him, pulling and prodding at his head and his chest, weaving in and out. He kept his breathing normal, but it was like nothing was reaching his lungs. His chest pounded in pain underneath his scars. It would only last a few more seconds, he told himself. He could only watch as the smoke writhed this way and that way, up and back down until suddenly the candles blew out and the lights came back on and he could breathe again.

"Jesus," Chris gasped, clutching at his chest and reaching into the drawer nearest the sink, glad he had left a small amount of his pills in the bathroom as an emergency stash. He slipped two tablets under his tongue and drank heavily from the running faucet to drown the smoky taste in his mouth.

He looked up and the smoke was still settling against the glass, stray tendrils curling and shifting until everything finally stopped. He could see that it had drawn a portrait of a man, not much older, with slightly curly hair. Chris peered directly at picture where the eyes were drawn and watched the mirror form its reflection. Instead of Chris' own green eyes, the smoky sketch swirled into a mass of gray and blue, shining keenly and brightly.

"Well, I didn't mean that literally, but I guess that's good enough," Chris groaned. There was no denying who those eyes belonged to. Fact is, he should have known. "Wyatt."

"Wyatt!" he shouted as soon as the orbs faded from his eyes and he found himself back in the Halliwell attic for the second time that day. The elder brother was sprawled out across his bed, holding a book over his head as he read.

"What?" Wyatt shouted back, not bothering to move.

Chris focused his energy towards the book and it flew into the opposite wall. "You lost my spot," Wyatt said nonchalantly as he sat up on the bed. "You figured it out, didn't you?"

"You should really learn how to cloak your spells better."

"But that what I had you for little brother," Wyatt teased.

"Why are you spying on me Wyatt?" Chris asked, sitting down on the back of the couch, facing his brother.

"I was just trying to watch out for you," Wyatt shrugged. "Keep an eye on you, do the big brother thing. You made it kind of hard when you ran off to normal people school."

"Well don't," Chris said. "It's creepy man. It had me freaked out all day."

"I saw that whole thing," Wyatt admitted. "with Gabe in the hallway. He didn't seem too surprised to learn you're a witch though."

"I orbed into him earlier this morning," Chris confessed before he realized what Wyatt said.

"You _orbed _into someone?" Wyatt cried. "How the hell do you orb into someone?"

"How did you know Gabe knew about me being a witch?" Chris fought back. "How did you even know his name?"

"It's called spying!" Wyatt argued. "Kind of defeats the purpose if I don't turn the volume on."

"I can't believe you," Chris fumed, glaring at Wyatt while he imagined burning holes through his brother's skull. Chris was supposed to be the paranoid one. For years, Wyatt teased him endlessly about being too careful and over-thinking all the consequences and the what-ifs, but Chris wasn't the one casting tracking spells just because Wyatt was in a different school. It was borderline possessive.

"If we're just going to sit around and glare at each other," Wyatt said when he couldn't handle the silence anymore, "can you float my book back over here?"

Without even looking back, Chris mentally grabbed the book from earlier and pulled it towards him. He caught it before Wyatt could, keeping it just out of his brother's reach. Petty, yes, but Wyatt deserved it. His attention shifted however, when he read the title of the old leather-bound volume. Wyatt used the distraction to snatch the book out of the air with one hand and deliver a sharp backhanded slap across Chris' head with the other.

"Asshole," they said in unison. Wyatt laughed and Chris begrudgingly chuckled as well. The tension lifted as Wyatt crossed his legs and settled against the wall, with book propped up against his knees. Chris read the title again, just make sure he had seen it right. _Incantratricis Varryn –_ roughly translated to: The Warren Witch.

"Why are you reading about the Warren witches?" Chris wondered as Wyatt flipped a page over.

"Just curious," he shrugged. "You know how The Charmed Ones were supposed to be the greatest witches the world has ever known? I wanted to know what came after that."

"What do you mean, after that?" Chris asked

"Well, if mom and Paige and Phoebe and Prue were supposed the be the culmination of centuries of this line, where does that leave us? Are we supposed to be better? Stronger?" Wyatt said almost feverishly. Chris could tell it wasn't just simple curiosity. He could almost see Wyatt's gears churning about in his head. "I mean, the Warren witches are supposed to be all female, but I'm here and you're here and we're like insanely gifted. But according to Melinda, male sons born in her line weren't supposed to have active powers. I mean, we're supposed to be dormant, little brother."

Chris blinked. "It's like you said. The Charmed Ones were the peak of power, so the lineage rules no longer applied." The part about The Charmed Ones, that wasn't new. Neither was the fact that male witches in the Warren line were rare, but obviously it was possible if Wyatt and Chris were here, as well as their other cousins. Maybe they were all in one generation, but it still happened.

Wyatt frowned, as if disappointed. "You and I both know magic is never that easy," he said. "Everything has rules."

"So, we're freaks. We've always known that," Chris suggested.

"Well what if we're cursed?"

"What?" Chris couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice, which seemed to irritate his brother. "You're serious?"

"I'm just saying it seems strange to me that all the Warren power was about creating the Charmed Ones," Wyatt grumbled. "They got all the blessed-be crap and we, we're the fallout. Cause and effect."

"Except you're the fabled Twice-Blessed child," Chris snickered. "There are songs written about you."

"Isn't that like a double negative?" Wyatt retorted. "They cancel each other out: blessed plus blessed equals cursed."

"You're looking for something that's not there," Chris scoffed.

"I'm not looking for anything, I'm theorizing." Wyatt snapped, slamming the book shut and tossing it on the floor. Chris stared for a moment at the abandoned book before looking back at Wyatt who was focused on something only he could see. Or something he wanted to see, something off in the distance, just out of focus.

"But why?" Chris whispered.

"I just think there has to be a reason," Wyatt said sadly. Chris had never seen this side of his brother. Wyatt was loud and fast and consequences-be-damned. He wasn't this guy who quietly holed himself up in his room, looking over centuries old books, dreaming up conspiracy theories. It was subtle, hardly noticeable until now. Or maybe he just hadn't been paying attention, but Wyatt looked older. Whatever was weighing on his mind, whatever questions he was trying to answer, it was obvious now to Chris that Wyatt too had been changed since their mom's death.

And Chris just didn't know what to say. And Wyatt had stopped talking.

The next few weeks passed quickly. School was officially in session for both of them, which didn't leave Chris much time to explore any more of Wyatt's new theories, not that he was talking about them anyway. And Chris no longer felt the presence of Wyatt's spell and after a simple searching spell of his own, Chris confirmed that he was no longer spying on him. It was an instant relief, especially at school as he began to feel more and more comfortable there.

As it turned out, Gabe really did know everyone. He was "a one-man Breakfast Club" and fit in with everyone: the jocks, the princesses, the criminals, the brains, and the basket-cases and everyone else in between. He wasn't without his enemies, he got into verbal spats everyday and Chris was waiting for the day one of them erupted into an actual fight. But it was nice, having someone to always hang out with, even if it only started out that way because he was "Gabe's friend".

Chris' initial impression of Gabe turned out to be right. He was a fun guy, definitely on the wild side and could not keep his mouth shut to save his life. The things Gabe got away with saying, profanities at full volume, Chris saw kids in his class get a week of detention for repeating. It was as if the teachers just expected it of it; it didn't even surprise them. But his he wasn't mean-spirited and his ways, however misguided, never seemed to cause any harm. His intentions were in the right place.

"Ritz!" Gabe shouted down the hall at the end of school. Chris groaned at the nickname; for some reason Gabe thought naming Chris after the hotel chain was the funniest thing in the world. Thank God no one else called him that.

"Gabriel!" Chris shot back as soon as Gabe reached his locker.

"I will kill you the next time you call me that," Gabe insisted, smashing an electric blue sheet of paper into Chris' face. "Seriously, I'll slit your throat."

"Stop calling me Ritz," Chris shrugged, peeling the paper off his skin so he could read it.

"Dude, it's your name," Gabe insisted.

"Dude, it's really not," Chris retorted, then threw the paper back at Gabe. "What is this?"

"This, my friend," Gabe's grin widened until it nearly stretched from ear to ear, "this is the key to the promised land. And my promised land, I mean fucking Misty Gold. And by fucking, I mean-."

"Yeah, actual fucking," Chris interrupted. "I got that. Why are you shoving it in my face?"

"Jesus H. Christ, it's a party jackass," Gabe said as he stuffed the invitation into Chris' bag. "We're going. Tonight. All we have to do is show up with 24 and we're in. Well, you have to bring the 24. All I have to do is show up."

"I..." Chris said hesitantly. "I have plans with Tyler."

"Bring him."

"He won't know anyone there."

"It's a party, he'll meet someone," Gabe insisted. "Come on, you can't say no to Misty Gold. If you do, it's like insulting the entire social hierarchy and if you insult all of that, then I'll have to stick up for you and there will be no fucking Misty Gold anymore. If you love me, if you care about me at all, you will not, you cannot ruin this for me."

"What if I don't even like you?" Chris asked, keeping as straight a face as possible.

"Think of it as charity then!" Gabe cried, throwing his hands up in the air.

Chris laughed as Gabe threw him a desperate look. "Fine, we'll go."

"Damn right we will," Gabe nodded, throwing his arm over Chris' shoulder and proceeded to steer them both down the hall. "Now, we have to procure some booze."

"Right, because I don't look 14 at all," Chris mocked. "I think you're going to have to do that on your own. I need to go to the store anyway. Refill."

"Are you ever going to tell me why the doctor has you popping pills like a meth addict?"

"Have you ever even seen a meth addcit?" Chris exclaimed.

"Ritz," Gabe said, looking very serious. "I. Know. Everyone."

"Right," Chris rolled his eyes. "Did you drive today?"

"I never drive."

"How do you get here every day?" Chris wondered. "You don't take the bus, you don't drive yourself. Do you live in the janitor's office? Is that your big secret?"

"I told you, I have my tricks," Gabe shrugged. "Like right now, we're going to use your little orbing trick to get the the store."

It only took a few minutes for Gabe to pick out a case of beer from the cooler section - "Drunks are cheap," he said upon return – while Chris waited patiently in line at the pharmacy counter. He texted Tyler, who had agreed to come, a little reluctantly until Chris told him he could crash at Victor's and Chris would orb him home in the morning before his mom woke up.

Chris approached the counter and handed the clerk Victor's insurance card, who quickly printed something off the computer and went to find the corresponding prescription bad. "Didn't you just refill at the beginning of the month?" Gabe asked as the clerk rifled around through various bins.

Chris gulped; he hoped no one would say anything about it, but he had gone through his last refill rather quickly. He was taking them as the doctor told him to. "As needed for pain" is what they said to him. His injuries had a long recovery process. Internal tissue and muscle repair and... It wasn't a big deal really, he wasn't taking the pills just for the sake of taking them. It had just been a stressful month, with school starting and such. He was required now to take a gym class and it was early in the morning, so unless he wanted to be achy and in a bad mood all day, he needed to take one after second period. And he'd accidentally dropped a few into the bathroom sink and they got flushed down the drain. He didn't take them to sleep anymore, except on the few nights where he tossed and turned until he took something.

"They didn't give me as many last time." Chris said quietly. "Something about a glitch in the computer system."

"Ah," Gabe replied then lean his entire upper body over the counter and shouted at the clerk. "Hurry up! My whole goddamn arm is going numb!"

"Gabe," Chris said, pulling his friend back by the collar of his shirt. "Give the guy a break."

"It's cool, I know him," Gabe said as the clerk returned.

"Of course you do," Chris shook his head in amazement and the guy recognized Gabe and leaned across the counter himself to punch Gabe in the arm.

"Sorry about that man," the clerk said. "I have trouble finding the other bag."

"What other bag?" Chris asked, confused.

"There's two prescriptions ready under this card," he said, pointing to the white bags on the counter. "I assumed you were getting both of them."

"Are you sure they're both mine?"

"Yeah, says it right here. One for Christopher Perry and one for Victor Bennet."

If Chris felt confused before, it was only worse now. Victor had a prescription? His grandfather? For what? Chris couldn't even recall him ever visiting a doctor, much less dropping off a medication order. "You're sure?" he repeated, feeling dumb as soon as he did.

"It's all right here on the card."

"Right," Chris said. "Yeah, sure, I'll pick it up for him. He's my grandfather. He must have just forgotten to tell me about it or something."

"Probably," the clerk said as he took the money from Chris and deposited in the drawer. He dropped the two little bags into a larger one and let Gabe pay for the beer at the counter, despite the protests of the people waiting in line.

"What was that about?" Gabe asked as they walked away.

"I have no idea," Chris admitted.

**

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**AN2: **I didn't intend to get into all that stuff about science and magic and genes just yet, but it just flowed naturally when I was writing the Gabe/Chris scene. I'll bring this up again as needed, so don't worry if you forget or don't understand right now.

**AN3: **I personally hate this chapter. I don't know if it's because I spent so long stressing over it, trying to write it, or if it really does just suck. I didn't know where to stop it, I didn't know if I was moving too fast of too slow or... yeah either way, I'm not too fond of this... but I recently purchased the big Charmed Book of Shadows DVD collection, so hopefully that will keep me inspired enough to write a lot in the next few weeks. I know you hate waiting on me for the next chapter and I hate taking so long... but you ever wonder why it does take me so long to update, here are a few excuses/reasons you can pick from: 1) College. 2) Work. 3) Social drama.

Hoping to bang out another chapter very soon, like the next two weeks soon. I'm ready for the ball to start rolling and I know you are too.

For those of you still here, thanks for sticking around and please review so I know I'm not imagining things!


	6. Apathy Begets Violence

**Disclaimer: **Sill not mine.

**Rating: **Swearing and Violence

**AN:** Excuses are at the bottom, but as a special treat, there is a link on my profile to a rough, colored sketch (anime style) that I drew of Gabe, so check it out if you'd like.

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It's all a game, avoiding failure... all in the name of misbehavior. - Poets of the Fall; "Carnival of Rust"

**Chapter Five: Apathy Begets Violence**

As soon as they walked through the doors, Chris should have known the whole night was going to be a disaster. The music was too loud, there were too many people, and everyone was already drunk. "I have a bad feeling," Tyler has said. They should have listened to him. Chris should have listened, trusted his instincts, but instead he buried it deep in his gut as Gabe pulled them into the house and demanded the music be turned up.

Chris thought his ears would start bleeding right then and there.

Instead he found himself holding a red plastic cup, and standing in a corner with Tyler. Gabe had abandoned them as soon as he found Misty topless in the hot tub outside. Couldn't really blame the guy, Chris thought; he had very clear intentions from the start. Still, it would have been nice if his only real friend stuck around long enough so that he didn't feel so awkward. He thought he would at least recognize a few other people, maybe someone he knew well enough to talk with, but he couldn't make anyone out in the dense crowd.

"I really don't like it here," Tyler grumbled into his cup.

"It's not the first party you've been to," Chris said, mostly because he wasn't sure what else he could say.

"Yeah, but I knew people there," Tyler argued. "and the people I came with never ditched me."

"Gabe already had plans."

"So did we."

He was really at a lose for an answer to that one, so he did the only thing he could think of: tilted his cup back and drank the whole thing. Whatever it was, it was vile and strong, but he finished it in less than 30 seconds. "Don't be such a dick," Chris suggested, tossing his empty cup on the ground and reaching for another sitting on the shelf next to him.

"Original," Tyler snapped. "I wonder who you picked that up from."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Tyler whispered. "Nothing at all. It doesn't matter."

But Chris couldn't let it go. Tyler had been angry ever since he got into the car with him and Gabe. He'd barely said a single word to either of them on the way up to the party, and now that they were here and he decided to open his mouth, it was like he was trying to pick a fight. "If you've got something to say, say it."

"I think Gabe is a dick, okay?" Tyler spat.

"You don't even fucking know him!" Chris retorted.

"I don't need to!" Tyler yelled back. "All I have to know is who you are since you met him and dude, let me tell you, you pretty much suck too."

"Well what makes you so goddamn special?" Chris hissed, his jaw locked in a tight square.

"For starters, I don't have to use a 'goddamn' swear word every time I open my mouth," Tyler said, his tone clearly mocking. "I don't break my promises to my friends, I don't try to act like I'm someone I'm not, and I don't go running from my life just because my mommy died."

Chris literally had to take a step back from Tyler as the familiar red haze settled over his vision. His body heated up; he could feel the tiny sparks in the air, the ones no one could see, the ones he could transform into fire. He wanted to. So badly. It took every bit of his strength to hold himself back.

"Fuck you." If he had tried to say anything else, his jaw would have broken from the strain.

"No, fuck you," Tyler said. "Piper would disown you if she could see you now."

His fragile hold broke, but he pushed through the raging wall of fire in his vision and directed all his energy into what he was best at. His strongest power, the one he'd had all his life, lifted Tyler with an invisible hand and pulled him off his feet. He slammed into the ground and Chris watched the breath leave his lungs. Out of spite, he pushed down on his best friend's chest, releasing it almost immediately, but it was enough. Tyler would know it was deliberate.

Good. He fucking deserved it.

He left Tyler gasping on the tile floor, catching his breath while several drunk people tried to help him up. Chris could tell they were laughing at him. They thought he just fell, or slipped. They thought he did it himself. Some drunk bastard fell at the party, you should have seen it.

Chris shoved his way through the crowd, ignoring all the girlish screams of indignation and drunken brutish threats. He was grabbing drinks as he went, anything he could get his hands on. It didn't matter what it was, or who it came from, so long as it burned his throat on the way down. If Tyler was going to accuse him of running away and pretending, there might as well be some truth to it. What better way was there to do that than to forget who you even were to begin with?

Somehow, he made it outside. The air was hot and muggy, which only added to his rapidly deteriorating senses. Everything felt like it was closing in, encased in a fog. It was almost claustrophobic. Perfect. Maybe he would implode. Completely become someone else. Destroy whatever it was that was so hideous inside him that his oldest friend couldn't stand the sight of.

Where had it even come from? What was so different about him? He didn't feel different. He didn't feel anything really, not anymore. He had stopped crying. He had stopped everything. Isn't that what he was supposed to do? Jesus Christ, it was like he couldn't even stop right. Who made all the goddamn rules anyway? It wasn't that fucking prick Tyler, that's for sure, though he sure acted like he did.

He suddenly needed to hit something again, and without even half a thought, his swung his fist until it connected the closest thing to him. Unfortunately it was the side of the house, layered in uneven brick. His knuckles exploded in pain. Blood spurt from the ragged, shredded ends of his flesh, flowing down his wrist and staining his jacket a deep red. The bones in his fingers felt like they where shaking, trying to slip out of his skin. So he hit the wall again, trying to force them to stay in place. And again when his arm jarred back in resistance. And again when the hole in his hand seemed bigger than the dent in the wall should have been. And the last time, shock waves flew all the way up into his shoulder, deep into his chest.

It wasn't a numb pain. It was sharp and clear and he could feel every abused nerve ending screaming in defiance. It was sobering. It was like crash landing back into reality, into himself. It was exactly what he didn't want.

"Someone needs to calm down," said a voice behind him.

Chris spun around to find himself face to face with a rat. Or rather someone who looked like a rat. For all he knew, it could have been some kind of cross-breeding, because for all intents and purposes, the guy looked like a rat. His eyes were small and beady and black except for the red that stained what should have been the whites. His nose was too long, like it would reach his chin before his hair did and his mouth was a vicious little slit, like a razor.

"I have something that could help with that," the rat-man said.

Chris just glared at him. "I don't want to fucking calm down," he spat.

The rat just laughed, a high squeaky sound that clawed at Chris' already raw nerves. His bony little hand disappeared into his jacket pocket and ruffled around in the lining, until he pulled out a ziplock bag. It wasn't any bigger than a credit card, but it was packed full of pills. Little ones, big ones, brightly colored ones, simple white ones. He couldn't count how many were in there.

"I have something for that too," the guy said, pulling out two pills roughly the color and size of aspirin. It didn't look too different from Chris' own pills, except his were longer in shape and these were circular. But that didn't really mean anything. It could be a different brand, or a lower dosage. It didn't even matter. He wanted those little pills. His hand hurt and he really, really wanted those pills.

"Got any cash?"

Chris blinked. "No, I didn't exactly stop by the ATM on my way in here," he grumbled.

"I suppose you think I'd just give them to you?" the rat growled at him.

Chris was trying to think of something to say, something smart and tough. Something like...

"I think you'd be better off shoving them up your ass."

Gabe.

There was a hard knock on Chris' shoulder and he was shoved to the side as Gabe stood defensively in front of him. His face was flushed, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. It made him seem taller, or maybe it was the square of his shoulder or the stiff line of his back. He was boring holes into the rat-man's chest. He was angry, livid.

"This isn't any of your business Amanti," the creature hissed, and Chris realized he hadn't given him enough credit. He could have been a snake for all the venom he injected in his words.

"Everything is my business, Exer." With each word, Gabe took a step forward, until he was inches away from his rat-like face. They were so close, if one of them so much as breathed wrong, the would crash into each other. "Especially when it comes to my friends."

"Your _friend,_" Exer said, "looks like he has some serious problems."

"And if he does," Gabe said, digging his fingers into the collar Exer's shirt, pulling him even closer forward, "he sure as all fucking hell doesn't need your bastard ass kind of help."

Chris saw it coming before Gabe did. Exer's shoulder tightened, and the muscles into his arms pulled his fist into a ball and Exer sent it crashing straight into Gabe's left temple. Girls screamed and even Chris winced a bit, but Gabe barely flinched as he grappled with Exer and forced him into the corner of the house. There was a ripping sound and when they turned, Chris could just see a nasty gash in the rat's shirt.

The fight was moving quickly to make anything out. Jabs and punches and kicks and knees. The sound of flesh slamming into bone was on loop, and blood was starting to splash in little patches on the patio concrete. Chris lost track of who was screaming what and eventually, the fighter's voices got lost in the din of the crowd that had circled around to watch.

Exer had Gabe pinned to the ground with a boot in his stomach when Gabe smashed an abandoned beer bottle into his knee. Exer howled in pain and lost his hold and Gabe was on him faster than Chris would have thought possible. He was so quick; if you blinked, you would have missed it. Even if you hadn't blinked, you still might have missed it. But Exer, somehow, perhaps out of pure rage, managed to shove Gabe off him and stood up. His fingers dug into Gabe's collar bone and Chris could have sworn he heard a snap.

And then it happened again. A move so quick, so unprecedented that it took everyone by surprised. Gabe was up and had thrown Exer off him, causing the circle to break as Exer fell into the crowd. He hit the patio table, knocking it over. Gabe launched at him, only to be sidestepped and his shoulder hit the sliding door. A long crack appeared in the glass and Gabe leaned heavily against the broken pane, trying to catch his breath.

Chris couldn't stand just watching anymore. It was his mess after all, he thought as he positioned himself between Gabe and Exer, who would have been breathing fire if he had the ability. Chris stared him down, hoping he looked more intimidating than he felt. He just needed a moment, one brief second to put up his defenses. It was simple, he'd been doing it all his life. When Exer tried to hit him, he would break his hand on an invisible steel wall.

Chris never got that moment.

"Oh my God, stop it!" someone screamed and in that tiny lapse of time and attention, Exer propelled himself forward into Chris' unprepared body. They fell into Gabe at full speed and the door shattered. Slivers of glassed rained down like a cruel summer shower, slicing and piercing. Chris' head made impact with something hard and warm and he heard Gabe groan in pain from underneath him.

Nothing made sense to him after that. Not the noise, not the broken glass around him. Not the blue and red lights that suddenly appeared or the feet stampeding towards any exit. Not even when Gabe picked him up off the ground and made him run. But the strangest thing of all was Gabe's hands and face; they were covered in some kind of thick, orange liquid that was practically oozing out of his skin.

"Tyler," Chris managed to choke out, limping down the street.

"Long gone man," Gabe said, his eyes glinting dangerously. They seemed brighter in the night, as if they were made to see in dark places. Chris shook his head and tried to dislodged his arm from Gabe's tight grip, but Gabe only increased his hold every time Chris pulled, so he just kept running, trying to keep up. He lost his footing as they rounded a corner. He was sliding, falling...

and fell face first onto a hard wood floor.

"Oh holy f-" the word dissolved into a hiss of pain as his hand went up to stem the blood now flowing freely from his nose. He turned over and stared up at the black ceiling. His ceiling wasn't black. He looked around wildly. Where the hell was he?

"You're getting blood all over my floor!" A towel dropped from the sky and covered his face. Chris bunched it up and held it to his nose. Gabe was grinning down at him like an idiot, like he was the best joke ever told. Who knows, maybe he was?

Gabe's grin did nothing to hide the mess his face had become. There were little nicks and cuts everywhere – under his eyes, around his cheek, across his lip. Even one of his ears had been sliced up, but the biggest one was on his forehead, stretching up into his hairline. It was jagged and deep, barely held together by the little butterfly strips Gabe had strategically placed along the slash. Bruises were already forming around his neck and on his arms, deep red and brown masses and even though he was wearing a shirt, Chris could see the odd angle his shoulder was set at.

"Rise and shine, gorgeous," Gabe said, with the slightest of kicks to Chris' leg. He didn't expect it to hurt as much as it did, and if he hadn't just fallen through a glass door, it wouldn't have.

"Where are we?" Chris groaned as his forced himself to get off the floor.

"My house," Gabe explained, tossing Chris another towel.

"How..." Chris was confused. "How did we get here?"

"You passed out about halfway here," Gabe shrugged, shaking his wet hair in a vain attempt to dry it out faster.

"So you what?" Chris asked. "You dumped me on the bed and took a shower?"

"Well I wasn't about to lay down and cuddle with you," Gabe snapped and his face fell into what could only be defined as a snarl. He was still angry; no matter how hard he was trying not to be, he was still pissed off. About the fight? About Chris? Something else?

As quickly as it went, his grin snapped back into place. "You should take a shower too," he said. "You look about as good as I did an hour ago."

By the way Gabe had turned away from him, it was clear that any kind of discussion was closed. He was not going to talk, not yet. So there wasn't anything for Chris to do but go into the bathroom and try to get cleaned up. After a quick study in the mirror – he didn't look half as bad a Gabe did – he turned the shower on and let out an embarrassing yelp as the icy cold water dove into his skin. There was no way he was getting under that until it warmed up.

He peeled off his shirt, glad to find it mostly intact except for a few small holes in the sleeve. Gabe must have taken most of the glass, falling into it the way he did. His shirt was sitting on the sink, the entire back of it shredded. It was wet, soaked through as if Gabe had tried to wash it. But why would he? It was beyond repair.

His nose finally stopped bleeding and as he washed the towel out, he couldn't help but notice how clean everything looked. Sure, the first aid kit was strewn all over the counter and Gabe's clothes were all over the floor, but the surfaces, the walls, the shower, the basin were all scrubbed spotless, to a shine. He never took Gabe for a neat freak, rather the type to clean up only when he couldn't find something.

It was only strange because didn't Gabe just come out of the bathroom, all bandaged up? Chris knew from experience, injuries were messy. And no one, not even his mother, cleaned that vigorously after being hurt. Curious, he lifted the lid on the trash can. It was empty. Completely, and totally empty. He even bothered to take out the trash liner.

His head was starting to hurt again.

The shower washed away all the dried flakes of blood and cleaned out the tiny cuts on his body, but beat relentlessly at his mangled hand. It was sore and raw and the skin had been scraped off each and every one of his knuckles. There were dirt and pieces of brick embedded under the flesh and every bit he yanked out with his fingernails brought forth a new little stream of blood. This was going to be extremely painful.

After about 15 minutes of picking at the wound, Chris decided it was flushed out and he turned the shower off. He wrapped his hand in a roll of gauze and began slipped back into his clothes. His hand was on the doorknob, reading to exit when he heard Gabe through the door. Cautiously, Chris inched the door open, just enough to see Gabe sitting at the window.

"It's wasn't my fucking fault," Gabe yelled into his cell phone. There was a brief pause as the other end of the line took up the conversation, but soon Gabe was back to raving. "How should I know? You're a right damn bastard, you know that? I have other things I could be doing."

Another pause.

"It's not like you're doing a great job if it yourself," Gabe growled. "No you listen to me. I'm the one doing you a goddamn favor."

A favor?

"No. No I will fucking not," Gabe said, and after another brief lapse, continued. "It's not fair to him, that's why."

Him?

"Because he deserves better, you dick, and you know it," Gabe said, throwing the phone at the wall. Well, that was one way to end a phone call, if a bit destructive. But then again, the whole damn night had turned out to be one big mess.

"Who was that?" Chris said as he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Cleopatra," Gabe retorted. "We have a date on Friday."

"Okay," Chris said slowly, sitting down on the bed. Still clearly pissed, Chris thought as he settled for staring down at his bandaged hand. Not that he could do anything else for it. It was just going to have to heal, but pretending to inspect it was better than sitting in the awkward silence that blanketed the room.

Gabe broke it first. "So," he said softly. "Misty Gold? Not as much fun as she thinks she is."

He couldn't help it; Chris started laughing. It was just such a normal thing to say after everything that had just happened. It was like those stupid movie trailers, the ones that get all worked up and build to this intense, suspenseful climax, only to show the title and flash to a ridiculously out of place joke. And you laughed, not because it was funny, but because everything else before it was so damn intense, you needed a little break.

Gabe grinned, truly grinned for the first time since the party had started. "I'm telling you Ritz, it's almost not worth it... almost."

He was going to regret asking this but, "Why only almost?"

"She does this thing with her mouth -."

"Nope," Chris interrupted, throwing his hands over his ears. "Nope, I really don't want to know. I don't want to hear anything about her mouth and any part of your body."

Gabe bounced on the bed, tugging at Chris' hands, muttering nonsense that Chris was determined to block out. It wasn't until Chris accidentally elbowed Gabe in the chest that he gave up. He flopped down on his back, with his legs hanging off the side of the bed and his good arm tucked behind his head.

"Do you still have those pills we picked up from the store?" Gabe asked, wincing as he tried to stretch out his wounded shoulder.

Chris stood up and fished around in his jacket pocket. He pulled out several cracked portions of the orange bottle before he found any of the medicine. It must have shattered when he fell, losing most of the hydrocodone in the process. There were only four left that he found.

Chris was tempted to lie, to say that it had all disappeared. Gabe wasn't watching him; he could very easily say there wasn't any left. But... he couldn't let Gabe shift around all night on a bad shoulder. He knew what it was like – uncomfortable, draining, more tiring than not sleeping. So he palmed three in his hand and slid them into his jeans pocket and sat back down next to his friend, passing him the little pill.

"The bottle broke," Chris said. "There's like, two left."

Gabe held the medicine up, using his pointer finger to roll it down his thumb and then back, up. Then, quick as lightening, he flicked the little shell at Chris, hitting him square in the forehead. "Get that for me, would you?" Gabe sighed.

"What the hell was that for?" Chris demanded, handing it back to Gabe, who proceeded to pop it in his mouth and dry swallow.

"For being a fucking retarded moron," Gabe stated, though there was no malice or judgment in his voice. "After I figured out how boring Misty was, I went back out to find you and Tyler and everyone was talking about how some little party crasher passed out on the floor. Come to find out, it was Tyler, and he wasn't passed out. He was fucking furious. Dude's got quite the backbone. I kind of like him."

"He hates you."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Gabe laughed. "I don't know the guy well enough to be taking shit from him, but he's your friend and that has to count for something, so I just let him yell it out before he left."

"Did he go home?" Chris wondered. Now that the adrenaline and the pain was starting to fade a little, the guilt was starting to weigh in. He idly traced the outline of his pills through his jeans pocket.

"I don't know what the fuck you were doing Christopher," Gabe said, his voice stern as death, "but if I ever catch you alone with Exer again, it won't be him I'm kicking the shit out of. Got it?"

There were questions he wanted to ask but Chris decided not to. Maybe it was the way Gabe has said it, completely serious, or the way he used his formal name. Whatever it was, it wasn't something Chris wanted to challenge. Maybe Tyler was right; maybe he was just running away from everything if he couldn't even muster up the words to ask a simple question.

"Ok," he said instead.

With that, Gabe rolled over on his good shoulder and curled up, sound asleep in less than two minutes. Chris waited until he was sure, then stood up and went back into the bathroom. He dipped his hand under the faucet and filled his mouth with water. He quickly dropped the three pills into his mouth and swallowed.

He started digging around in Gabe's drawers, looking for mouthwash or toothpaste, anything with a little bit of flavor to drown out the acidic taste that was slowly building in his mouth – a combination of blood and alcohol. Maybe if he was lucky, all the adrenaline had eaten up the liquor. Something told him he wouldn't be that lucky.

A travel size bottle of mouthwash rolled from the back of a drawer. Triumphantly, Chris pulled it out and began to screw the top off when he noticed the spot on the otherwise perfect counter top. It was in the corner, hardly noticeable, but it was there. A little splatter of muted orange... paint? Some kind of dye maybe, but Chris couldn't imagine Gabe dying his hair orange.

That's when he remembered...Gabe had been covered in orange earlier. His face, his hands, anywhere there should have been blood, was this thick orange substance. That didn't make since. It had just been a trick of the light, or because he'd hit his head. Blood wasn't orange. Chris shook his head; the day was officially too long. He needed to sleep. He could worry about Gabe and his orange blood later.

Later came sooner than he hoped, as he was jarred away by a loud ringing emitting from his jacket pocket. He was vaguely aware of Gabe mumbling some string of profanities at him as he crawled across the floor towards his jacket. The ringing got louder and louder and just as he fingers closed around his cell, it stopped. Typical, Chris groaned.

He glanced at the screen. Who was calling him at 8:07 on a Saturday morning? No one he knew had ever _seen _8:07 of a Saturday morning. The number wasn't familiar to him at all. He decided to let them just leave a message or he'd call them back later when his brain wasn't reduced to liquid mush, when the phone started ringing again. It was the same number calling back.

"M'ello?" Chris slurred into the phone.

"I'm trying to reach a Christopher Halliwell," said a kind, female voice on the other end of the line.

"Chris," he said, hoping that was a good enough acknowledgment so the caller could wrap it up quickly.

"Hello, Mr. Halliwell, I'm calling from San Mateo Memorial Hospital in regards to your grandfather, Victor Bennet." Like a slap to the face, Chris was instantly awake.

"Hospital?" he shouted. A dull thud sounded somewhere behind him and Gabe appeared next to his side, pressing the speaker phone button before Chris could object.

"Yes sir," the caller said. "Your grandfather is currently being admitted to have some testing done, but he specifically asked we contact you. He gave the impression that he had not told you that he was visiting us this morning and since he didn't expect to be admitted, he was concerned that you would worry about him."

"What kind of tests?" Chris demanded.

"I am sorry, but I'm not allowed to discuss that over the phone," she said. "Visiting hours have started in just the last couple of minutes, so you are welcome to come see for yourself."

"Well thanks so much lady," Gabe said, rolling his eyes.

"Excuse me?" the voice said, losing a touch of its kindness.

"I'm sorry, forgive my friend," Chris said into the mouthpiece. "He's very rude. Can you tell me what room my grandfather will be in?"

"I believe he is in 318," she replied.

"Thank you," Chris said and quickly hung up. He threw his jacket one and started lacing up his shoes. He had to get over there. Why in the world was Grandpa in the hospital? Why was he even there? Why didn't he tell Chris he was going?

"What's wrong with Vic?"

Chris stopped short. He'd forgotten about Gabe, but his question brought back images of that orange blood from last night, brought back the little seed of doubt that seemed to have sprouted overnight. And now... it was only stronger. Because Gabe had never meet Victor. Sure, Chris told him he was living with his grandfather, probably even mention his name once. But to call him "Vic" so casually, so naturally, it made Chris' hair stand on end.

Was he overreacting? Maybe, but he didn't have the patience to quell it down or to fight with Gabe about it. Without answering or even looking back, Chris orbed out. His fear scattered his orbs further than he intended but he gathered them up at the right moment and materialized in an empty elevator in the hospital. There was a slight humming as the last of his magic settled into place and then all was quiet.

"You little prick!"

Except for that.

Gabe was sprawled out on the floor of the elevator, clothes rumpled from having slept in them all night, his hair running wild on top of his head, and he was barefoot. But most importantly, he was not supposed to be there.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Chris glared.

There was a pause, a brief millisecond before Gabe answered. "You should really watch out for hitchhikers, you know." That pause was enough; enough to betray the lie Gabe had just spun. And Chris was sick of it. Sick of everything in his life being decided or fake or out of his control.

He glanced down at the floor of the elevator where Gabe's bare feet rested. Quickly, he parted the molecules in the metal and filled the empty spaces with the heat from the air. One part particle manipulation and one part pyrokinesis makes for one rapidly heated floor. His Chemystics teacher would be so proud.

Gabe looked ridiculous, jumping from foot to foot as the heat became too much for his bare skin. He was practically ready to climb the walls when the door opened on the third and Chris dropped the spell, rushing down the hall until he found number 318.

He flung the door open, only to find the room empty. Clearly, it was occupied. The bed was crumpled up, the TV left on and there were various machines he knew weren't plugged in unless there were being used, but there was no one in the room.

He was about to make a break towards the nurse's station when then door slammed shut behind him. Gabe, out of breath and looking very annoyed, stalked towards him. Chris stood his ground until they were eye to eye, just like Gabe and Exer had been just a few hours before. Chris briefly wondered if this is who Exer felt, defiant, like he needed to teach this jackass a lesson. Except it wasn't exactly the same situation, was it? Gabe, despite standing so close, hadn't even touched him.

"What the hell are you playing at Ritz?" Gabe demanded, taking a step back.

"Me?" Chris scoffed. "What about you, you lying bastard?"

"Run that by me again," Gabe tried to laugh, but Chris wasn't buying it.

"How the hell did you get here Gabe?" he snapped.

"You orbed me here, you dumb twit," Gabe argued.

"Bullshit!" Chris said. "I know what it feels like to carry a passenger when I orb. I know what it feels like when someone jumps into it. I know when there's someone else there and there wasn't. So you tell me right now, how in the hell did you end up on that elevator with me?"

"You're losing it man," Gabe growled, his eyes flashing. They had done that last night too, in the dark. Whenever he got angry, when he was being pushed into a corner, his eyes flashed.

"Fine," Chris spat. "Then tell me about this orange blood you were covered in."

Chris watched how carefully Gabe controlled his face. Confusion, mixed with disbelief and a hint of amusement. It was near goddamn perfect and if Chris hadn't been suspicious, he would have never noticed the twinge of fear that twisted his lips in the corner.

"Seriously?" Gabe said. "Orange blood? Forget losing it, you're gone."

That was it. It was precise, controlled, not enough to hurt, but he whipped the air into a thin blade and sliced a shallow line into Gabe's forearm. Instantly, Gabe slapped a hand over it and hissed in pain, but not before the strange, bright orange liquid seeped from the wound.

"You fucking asshole," Gabe hissed, pressing down on the cut until it stopped bleeding.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," Chris said, his voice going colder than he ever thought possible. "How did you get here?"

Gabe looked up at him sadly. His carefully constructed mask was gone. He knew he was beaten, that whatever the game was, he had lost and there was no way out of it. His guard was completely down. Chris expected to see something calculated, manipulative. He was genuinely surprised when all he could really make out was a little bit of grief and loss, some distress, but mostly there was a lot of relief and an overwhelming sense of friendship.

"We don't have to do this now," Gabe said softly, "with your Grandpa in the hospital. We can wait. I promise, I swear on my life, nothing will happen."

Chris shook his head. He needed to know. He needed to know now.

"How did you get here?"

Gabe didn't even hesitate this time. "I shimmered."

Gabe could have breathed on him in that moment and Chris would have crumpled to the floor. He.. shimmered. But... that's a demonic power. Gabe wasn't... he couldn't be... there was no way! Chris would have known; he would have spotted it. No demon was that good at hiding his true nature, not even The Source was that good.

"What are you?" was the only response Chris could choke out.

"I'm a manticore."

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**AN2: **I know this is really no excuse for how long it took me to write this, but this final draft, is in fact the 4th one I've written. Originally, I had mapped out this chapter to take place after the party and lead to a different series of events. But it wasn't working so I tried to do a few other things, but I kept getting drawn back into the party, kept wanting to be there. So I went a little further back and started writing from there and what ended up happening was, not only did I write more, but all the things I wanted to hit started to include themselves in a very natural way. So, yes, it took me too long to write it, but I'm extremely happy with the end result.

**For those of you who have me on Author Alerts:** Just be warned, there will be a barrage of The Vampire Diaries (and possibly Misfits) fics coming your way. They're stories I've promised to write and my friends have been waiting very patiently for them. Just thought you might want a heads up.

**Contact:** _Part One:_ I try to respond to each of your reviews directly, but I fear I missed some of you this time around. I want to take this moment to say **THANK YOU** for taking the time to review and I promise, I will answer all of you this time. _Part Two:_ I want to tell all of you that you're free to hit me up on AIM (KLCxishere) or Twitter (KLCx) anytime; just let me know you're from FanFiction and I'll add you to my lists.

And as always... I write, you read, you review, and I write more. So please, REVIEW!

Love you all. **Merry Christmas!**


	7. Misstep to Nowhere

**Disclaimer: **Sill not mine.

**AN: **A refresher course on manticores: They have super-speed and super-strength. They can shimmer, they have heightened senses, are highly resistant to a witch's powers. They have a sonic scream, sensing abilities (which I have stretched a TINY bit to accommodate something I need Gabe to be able to do). Also, they have fang-like teeth and elastic forked tongues and they look like a tanning bed gone wrong.

Also, it's rumored they can shape shift (presumably because one has to wonder what possesses a human to have sex with something that looks like the manticores do) but I have knocked that ability off the list because a) it's too easy, b) it was never confirmed, and c) I like a little subtlety in my characters and having Gabe look like a full-fledged demon is not in my plan. He has one form, one look, and that's his human form. Further details can be found in the story, but if you still miss it, review and ask me to explain it to you again.

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**_Take my hand and tell me it's okay to be wild. - The Classic Crime; "Who Needs Air?" _

**Chapter Six: Misstep to Nowhere**

It was too much.

Somewhere between the gathering hangover, the way his bones creaked with every movement, his grandfather's sudden hospitalization, Chris' body seemed to stop working. His chest tightened and his stomach clenched and it was all he could do to make it to the restroom before his legs gave out and vomited into the toilet. His throat burned, each more painful than the last as his entire body lurched and seized with every heave; like his body believed that if it could forcibly remove all physical traces of the last few hours, then they would have never happened.

He flinched as a cool hand pressed against the back of his neck. There was another on his forehead holding his shaggy hair out of the toilet bowl. He tried to shake the hands away, but that only led to another round of pressing his face into the toilet.

Finally, the nausea passed. He had broken out into a sweat and his entire existence was screaming in protest, but Chris picked himself up and moved to sit with his back to the restroom door. He didn't say a word as Gabe carefully cleaned up and flushed all evidence of Chris' sickness down the drain. He didn't say a word as Gabe pulled a few towels out of the storage cabinet and tossed one to Chris. He didn't say a word as Gabe glanced apologetically at him as he shimmered out of the room, only to appear a few moments later with Chris' backpack in one hand and a pair of boots in the other.

"Technically, I'm only half manticore," Gabe said quietly as he sat on the floor opposite from Chris and started tugging on a pair of socks.

Chris wanted to ignore him but he just couldn't _see _it; how was Gabe a manticore in any way? He looked at Gabe's swirling gold and silver eyes everyday and he never once thought they were harboring a demon. Try as they might, eventually all manticores deteriorated into their natural form. Their leathery skin stretched over protruding angles, their teeth narrowed into razor-sharp fangs and they smell of rotting meat tended to seep out of their pores. Manticores were disgusting, horrifying demonic creatures. They did not – they could not - look or be as human as Gabe. It just didn't happen that way.

But despite his physical appearance, there were certain things about Gabe that didn't add up to human either. After watching him fight... He wasn't imagining it. God, he was so fast and yet he still fought like he was holding back. And the more Chris went over the fight in his mind, the more he saw. Gabe's punches had been devastating, but they were languid and slow, timed and weighted. He waited too long to block, taking hits he didn't have to. Gabe had been in absolute control of that brawl and no one had even noticed.

Gabe was always in control. In the halls at school, in the classroom, at the party – anywhere there was a crowd. What he and others had always assumed was just natural charisma, Chris now recognized as a form of sensing. Like whitelighters could tell where their charges are at all times, manticores had the unique ability to use their sensing powers on others, to draw them closer and make them more cooperative. This is how manticores are able to use humans are breeding partners. Gabe must use it to blend in.

Speed, strength, shimmering, sensing... it had all been staring Chris right in the face and he had missed it.

"How?" Chris finally asked.

"I was raised by my father," Gabe said and to his credit, Chris noted, he didn't try to make a joke out of it. "Derek, he's human. He never tried to hide it from me, what I am but it wasn't easy hiding it from everyone else. I used to bite through my lips when I was younger because my teeth were so sharp. My skin would dry out easily and crack. I busted my dad's eardrums once when I threw a fit and started screaming in the car."

"Sonic scream," Chris nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, that one took us both by surprise," Gabe chuckled.

"Why don't you look like-?"

"A pile of rotting filth in a burlap sack?" Gabe interrupted, his mouth set in a grim line. "A lot of work. I get my teeth filed down every so often. The worst part was my skin. We kept it from changing with this potion my dad would buy in the magic black-market. It's supposed to be used for post-possession skin problems – apparently people who've been possessed by ghosts get really dry skin as well – but it kept my skin from withering up like a tanning bed gone wrong. My dad thinks manticores must finish their transformation during puberty because after a few years, everything just kind of stabilized. My skin is darker now, but it no longer stretches and cracks or dries up. It's mostly normal, human skin."

"Mostly normal?"

"It's thicker," Gabe shrugged. "I have a few extra layers I think."

"So you basically forced yourself to look human?" Chris spat.

"As opposed to looking like a demon?" Gabe replied, his voice calm and level which only infuriated Chris further. He shouldn't get to be so comfortable right now. Gabe should be the one who was pissed and angry. He should be denying everything, insisting that it was none of Chris' business. Instead he was calmly explaining away how his entire life revolved around this blatant lie about who and what he was.

It was irrational, Chris knew. After all, Chris had initially lied to Gabe about being a witch and he was still lying about that to everyone else. But Chris was only lying about his powers. He never lied about being human.

"Stay away from me," Chris said suddenly, standing up.

"And here I thought this was going oh so very well," Gabe muttered.

"Going well?" Chris repeated. "You just told me you're a manticore, and you thought this was going well?"

"You forced me to tell you, kid," Gabe reminded him. "Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

"Don't even try to make this my fault," Chris argued.

"There's no fault!" Gabe yelled back. "It's just what it is."

"And what is it, huh?" Chris demanded. "What was the plan? A reconnaissance mission to find out about me and my family before you tried to kill all of us? Is that your big ticket into the manticore inner circle?"

"You're going to want to stop talking," Gabe growled, his voice low and his shoulder tense. "Right now."

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" Chris asked.

"I'm going to hit a hell of a lot more than that if you don't shut up."

"Do you get more for me if I'm dead or if I'm alive?"

He felt the pressure around his neck before it dawned on him that Gabe had even moved. Chris' back was pressed against the door, his feet dangling a mere inch off the floor as Gabe held him in a tight grip around his throat. His eyes were hard as steel, flashing dangerously. This was the same Gabe from the fight. The one on the brink of destruction, but still in complete control. This was the crack in the mask and Gabe didn't seem to care that Chris could see it all.

"Do you know how hard it is for me to keep from ripping your throat out right now? Do you know how easy it would be?" Gabe growled, flexing his fingers around Chris' throat, tightening his grip. "I hate it. I hate who I am. I hate _what _I am. I never asked for this and then there are people like you who get to punish me for it. You think you're better than me? Why? Because who you are, what you are comes from 'good magic'? How many of your kind have fallen to the dark side? How many of your kind have killed good innocent people for personal reasons, only to be forgiven because they made a mistake? Ask yourself how many of your kind had a hand in creating what I am?"

Chris choked as Gabe's grip tightened with each question. He was right. How many stories had he heard about his mother and his aunts losing to their inner demons? Like the time Phoebe nearly became a banshee because she couldn't deal with her grief, or when Paige, when awakened to her powers, almost transformed herself into a warlock. And his own mother, his idealized mother, turned herself into a Fury. These were all creatures that only existed because good people succumbed to their dark sides and couldn't find a way back out. Gabe's rage was justified.

"Why do you," Gabe continued, hoisting Chris even higher into the air, "have the luxury to dabble in black magic while you simultaneously say that you are a good person? Why isn't that afforded to me? It's so easy to be a witch, it's even legally documented. How old were you when the Exposure happened – seven? Eight? You are acceptable. I've had to hide who I am for 17 pathetic years and I'll have to do this for the rest of my goddamned life."

It was something Chris had never considered. As devastating as The Exposure was for him and his family, good had come out of it. They could openly mourn the loss of fellow witches and allies. They could hold to their customs. Amidst all the guilt he felt over his cousins deaths and the part he played in them, the fact that he was now allowed to honor them in the Wiccan way had been had enough to get him through the following years, that they didn't have to hide in death as well.

But the same event that had liberated his family had forced Gabe even further into the shadows. How many others like Gabe were there? How many had to pretend to be something else just to survive? How many of them hated themselves the way that Gabe so obviously did.

Gabe dropped Chris so suddenly that he wasn't able to keep himself from kneeling on all fours on the floor, gasping for air. He carefully massaged the abused flesh around his neck and tried his best to avoid looking at Gabe, whose hands had curled into fists at his side. His hands were shaking from being clenched so tightly. Chris wanted to say something but his voice wouldn't work. What was there to say anyway?

"I do what I have to do," Gabe said, the anger in his words replaced with simple determination. "I lie. I lie to the world and to myself. I do it to protect myself and my family because there is no other option. And I know you do the same things too. Which leaves me with just one question."

Gabe balanced his weight all the balls of his feet as he squatted down until he was on the same eye level as Chris. He grabbed Chris by the chin and forced him to look at him, his mouth twisted into a cruel smile. Despite himself, Chris flinched. He couldn't help it.

Gabe took a deep breath and leaned in closer, his twisted lips near Chris' ear as if the question was meant for him and him alone. But Chris knew it was meant for every one, for any one. Whoever happened to hear it, whoever happened to be listening. It was a question he could tell Gabe had been holding inside him for all his life and this might be his only chance to say it out loud.

"Who the fuck are you to judge me?"

Gabe shimmered out, his question unanswered, lingering in the air. It's not like Chris had a real answer to Gabe's question and his punishment was just a lot of anger and guilt and tension. It was a suffocating feeling, as if his hands were still wrapped tightly around Chris' throat. Suddenly, it was so painful, physically painful. His chest was shuddering and his lungs were screaming. His head resumed its pounding and every little nick and slice he'd gotten from falling through the glass door was aflame, though his battered hand felt as if it had been soaked in gasoline and someone had lit a match.

It was just the adrenaline fading, he tried to tell himself. It would pass, it would go away. But waiting for the pain to pass seemed like the hardest thing in the world. His hands shook as he fumbled through his backpack, desperately searching. Maybe he still had one, maybe it had fallen out and he never noticed. For the love of God, please let him still have one. Somewhere, anywhere. Just one.

He heard a familiar rattling sound and snatched the crumpled white sack from the bottom of his bag, ripping the thin paper open. Prescription papers and instructions fell out and the orange bottle tried to roll under the sink, but Chris caught it before it was too far out of reach. He ripped off the lid and pills scattered all over the bathroom floor. He didn't care. He just needed one, two, three... he just needed them.

He crushed them under his teeth and as instantly as he'd become aware of the pain, it dissipated. He could still feel it, just under the surface but just knowing that the unfeeling numbness was soon coming, it was enough to send the panic away. It was enough for him to collect himself off the floor, to replace the towels Gabe had taken from the cabinets, to clean up and erase any trace of anyone ever having been in there.

As he tucked the last scattered pill back into the plastic bottle, it dawned on him that he and Gabe had used the last of his brand new prescription after the party. He'd entirely forgotten that this wasn't his to take. It belonged to his grandfather, the same grandfather who had mysteriously been admitted into the very same hospital whose private bathroom he was currently hiding in. Half of the label had been torn off, but Chris could still make out the important things: Victor's last name, half of his first, the doctor's name, the vague "takes as needed for pain management" instruction text and the various symbols the warn against possible side effects. But what drew his attention most was the section of the label that said, in clear bold letters: oxycodone.

Oxy was for the most severe pain, at least that was the impression he'd gotten from his doctors while he was in the hospital. They had taken him off his morphine drip a week before his actual release and started him on the pills, "determining the prescription" was how they put it. In the end, they decided he was better suited to the milder hydrocodone over the more potent oxycodone. Aunt Paige had been worried that it wasn't enough but the doctor's assured her it was the best fit – that he was young and wouldn't want to be held back by the side effects the oxycodone carried with it. So what in the world was Victor doing with it?

As he exited the bathroom, his head was swimming again. He couldn't keep track of his own thoughts; they kept sliding over each other, trying to catch his attention, to come up with some kind of answer to just one of his question, but he couldn't focus. He was vaguely aware of his stiff movements, of where the aches in his body were limiting his mobility, but he just pushed it under the numbness. What he didn't feel couldn't hurt him.

The hospital room was still empty, but someone had come in after he and Gabe had barricaded themselves in the restroom because a clipboard had been left at the foot of the bed. Chris grabbed the clipboard as he sat cross-legged on the bed. At first glance, all he could make out were a bunch of numbers and abbreviations accompanied by notes in different handwritings. He forced himself to slow down and went back to first page. At the very least, he could know that it was Victor's charts that he was looking at. Then he could find the doctor's name, then he could find out what kind of tests they were doing... he just needed to slow down.

His eyes scanned the top section of information until he found what he was looking for. There is was again, in plain capitalized letters: BENNET, VICTOR, followed by the date of admittance and a list of several doctors. It looked normal enough, so Chris flipped over the second page. It looked like a basic medical history to him, though he noticed a cluster of dates that all were all in the same few months from about two years ago, but the notes made no sense. The third page looked like test results, nothing that really told him anything. He didn't understand the medical jargon any of the medical jargon or the terms and everything seemed to end in "-ologist" or "-ology". He was about ready to give up until he glanced over a word he recognized and immediately wished he hadn't.

ONCOLOGY.

The rest of the page was a swirl of more numbers and random letters that had to mean something but all it translated to in Chris' brain was cancer. His grandfather's cancer. His grandfather's death. His mother's father's death, the death of people he loved. The people he loved getting ripped from his world one by one, whether by a bullet or a disease, it was all the same. It always ended the same, bloody and cold.

The door handle rattled and Chris panicked. He almost orbed out, anything to avoid facing whoever was coming through the door, but then he heard his grandfather's laughter as the door opened and he strolled in, without a care in the world. He looked completely healthy. Could it be possible that the chart was wrong? Maybe Chris had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Maybe it was just a test, to rule the cancer out.

"Chris," Victor said, surprise in his voice. "Oh my God, what happened to you?"

Chris realized how he must have looked a lot worse than he felt as the worry appeared in deep lines across Victor's face. Last night, he'd been a mess of clean cuts, but they must have swollen up by now; not to mention his crudely wrapped knuckles or his bloodied clothes. He probably had the beginnings of some very colorful bruises around his neck from Gabe's grip.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Chris said quickly, wincing at the cliché answer. "I swear."

"What happened?" Victor repeated sternly.

"I lost a fight with a door," Chris said with a slight laugh, trying to inject some genuine humor in the very simplified story. How stupid could he be, rushing off the the hospital looking like this when Victor was the one who needed their attention. He should have washed up or gotten someone to heal him first. "It's really not important."

"You're going to have to do better than that," Victor insisted. "We are going to talk about this."

"How about we talk about the neon 'cancer' sign flashing over your head instead?" Chris deflected, hoping he didn't sound as angry as he felt as he tossed the clipboard into Victor's hands.

It was the look on Victor's face that crushed the tiny sliver of hope Chris felt only moments before. It was all he could do to keep from scattering all over California as he orbed himself out of the hospital room. He was a coward, but he just wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to listen to the doctor's clinical explanation of the disease that was eating away at his grandfather's health, wasn't ready to listen to Victor as he tried to make it sound better than it really was. He definitely wasn't ready to pretend to believe it was all going to be okay. How could it be?

It was just too much to be okay.

It was the black ceiling he recognized first as he finally landed his orbs on solid ground. His panic and disgust and helplessness broke through his numb defenses and a wave of fury washed over him. He didn't even bother concentrating his power as it built up inside him; just just let it swell until it it seeped out of his pores and when it was too much to hold on to any longer, he screamed and let it go.

Furniture violently knocked back into the walls and drawers and cabinet doors flew open. Shelves fell off their mounting. Books and films and picture frames, anything and everything crashed to the floor. Windows burst, showering the room with glass. The lights flickered. The television cracked. The doors broke off their hinges. There was a whirlwind of various objects swirling around his head and he threw them at anything that had somehow managed to stay off the floor.

He didn't even see it coming when Gabe's fist slammed into his jaw, but it was enough to briefly cut off his connection to his powers and with one final crash, everything in the manticore's room fell to the floor in a heaping mass of destruction.

"Are you fucking insane?" Gabe yelled.

Chris glared at him and reached for his power again. He was more controlled this time, aiming a burst of energy at Gabe's shoulder. A startled yelp told him that his bolt of particle manipulation had landed as Gabe was now inspecting a newly burnt and bloodied shoulder. Who needs pyrotechnics when you can just make a person's muscles implode on itself?

"Come on," Chris screamed. "Hit me! Do it!"

"What the hell is your problem?" Gabe spat, his muscles taut as if readying himself to strike.

"Does it matter?" Chris asked. "Does it change anything?"

"Change what?" Gabe asked, ducking as the leg of what used to be his chair flew towards his head. "You want to stop that?"

Chris' only response was to send Gabe flying into the wall. He watched as Gabe tumbled to the ground and landed on his back, flickers of pain dancing over his face. He should care, he should be sorry but all he could imagine was his grandfather, alone in a hospital with tubes and wires running all over his body, in pain and there wasn't anything Chris could do to stop it. He couldn't fight this. He couldn't control this.

Gabe rolled over and coughed up a smattering of blood, staining his hardwood floors. But it wasn't Gabe, it was Piper. It was his mother, dying, coughing up blood onto her newly cleaned floors and Chris couldn't do anything to help her either. Death wasn't something he could fight. He needed something to fight. It was the only thing he knew how to do.

"It's a right damn shame my dad isn't home," Gabe growled, glaring at Chris as he wiped the blood from his mouth. It took less than a second for Gabe to shimmer himself behind Chris and grab a fistful of hair. "If he were, I wouldn't be able to do this," he finished as he hurled Chris through the gaping hole his bedroom used to be and into the hallway. Several picture frames hit the ground, but Chris never did. In a burst of speed, Gabe had caught him from the first fall and vaulted him into the living room. Chris hit the edge of the coffee table, groaning in pain as the corner dug into his hip bone.

He raised his hands as Gabe stalked across the room and tried to freeze the older teen the way his mother taught him when he was younger. Gabe faltered for just a step before he pushed past the magic and continued walking towards Chris. He switched tactics, going back to trying to blow up his other shoulder, but Gabe deflected that almost as easily.

"Perks of being a manitcore," Gabe hissed, his forked tongue slipping past his teeth. It occurred to Chris this was the first time he'd ever seen it – another example of how carefully Gabe hid his identity. Gabe grabbed a handful of Chris' shirt and pulled him off the ground for the second or third time that day. "I don't have to play by your little witchy rules. Well, not all the time."

"But I have to!" Chris screamed, wrestling himself from Gabe's grip. "Isn't that right? You get to just take and take from me and I have to sit back and let you. I don't even get to put up a fight while you just come in and destroy my entire world again. As if once wasn't enough."

Gabe took a step back and Chris watched as his expression shifted from obviously confused to an odd sense of understanding. It only infuriated Chris further. Why should he get to understand when even Chris had no idea what he was raging about? What was so blatantly obvious to a demon that Chris was completely missing? Gabe laughed, his whole body sagging in relief, which only made Chris want to hit him again.

"Are you pissed?" Gabe asked, laughter still clinging to his voice. "You wanna do something about it?"

Chris felt a little dumbstruck at Gabe's sudden change in demeanor. He hesitated as Gabe stepped foreward and placed his hand on his shoulder. A strange sensation passed through Chris, like a small wave was being tossed around in his stomach then spread down to his toes and through the top of his head. He could feel his body being moved, but it wasn't like orbing at all. We he orbed, he broke apart. He was everywhere and nowhere at once. Whatever this was, he was being moved in one piece.

And as quickly as the sensation had come, it stopped. Chris blinked rapidly, the air suddenly much warmer and dusty. The walls were no longer smooth and even walls, but jagged and rocky. There was a slight stench in the air, the barest hint of dirt and blood. There were tunnels and paths leading in every direction. He could hear scratching down the tunnel to his right and inhuman screams on this left. He couldn't help the twisted smile that stretched across his face. Gabe had shimmered them into the Underworld. He couldn't have picked a more perfect place if he'd tried.

"Payback right?" Gabe said, jumping up and down, cracking his neck like a boxer.

Chris grinned and focused on the cracks in the rock walls, forcing them to spread and shift until the whole tunnel started shaking. The scratching had increased to the point that it was just one long grating noise akin to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Whatever was down there was running, fleeing from the walls that were caving in around it. Chris released his hold on the rocks and in one thunderous landslide, the tunnel dissolved into a pile of gravel.

"Holy shit!" Gabe laughed. "Hello misplaced aggression."

He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but by the time Chris stopped to take in his surroundings, he was deep in the Underworld and he was exhausted. Judging from Gabe's panting breaths, his friend wasn't faring much better. But he was grinning like an idiot, laying spread-eagle on the dirt floor and as much as Chris hated to admit it, he felt pretty damn good as well.

"How many was that?" Gabe wheezed, his hands on his chest.

"About 30," Chris said as he collapsed on the sand next to Gabe, "if you could the double-headed snake thing as one."

"Fucking demons," Gabe shook his head, the smile still on his face. "They didn't even see us coming."

Chris' smile fell a bit as his heart struggled to reach it's normal pace. It felt amazing, channeling all his helpless feelings into fighting demons, but they'd gone in unprepared. It had been completely reckless and while he was nowhere near as tense as he had been before, it didn't change anything and now as his mind cleared, it confused him a little bit. Losing that kind of control... nothing good ever came from that and he and Gabe both had completely given themselves over to the fight.

"I don't get it," Chris whispered. "After everything you said earlier, how can you just lead an ambush down here?"

"I meant what I said," Gabe said, his arm slung across his face to hide his eyes. "I don't think it's a simple as good and evil. Good can do horrible things and evil can do things you might even think of as honorable. But more than that, it's about the choices you make. I just try to make enough choices to be a good person because some choices can fucking change everything."

Chris just nodded, drawing random symbols into the ground as he listened. The words echoed in his head. Choices. He'd made the wrong one today when he ran away from the hospital. Another one when he'd attacked Gabe. Another one before that when he'd basically stolen his grandfather's painkillers. If all your wrong choices made you a bad person, how far away was he from that brink? How far until he hated himself, or was he already there and he was too blind to realize it?

"You said you hated yourself," Chris said as Gabe sat up.

"I..." Gabe trailed off, his eyes clouding over in thought as he struggled to come up with the right words. "I don't hate myself, exactly. I hate parts of myself, parts I can't control. My dad is a great guy and he had a kid with a demon. He could have given me up to be raised a monster, but he loved me enough to save me. I feel like when I lose control over the demon side of me, that I'm letting him down, like I'm telling him he didn't do enough to help me, and that's not true. So I make a lot of friends, I'm loud and fun and annoying because if I can just prove to him that I'm a normal, happy wild kid, then he won't blame himself every time something goes wrong."

"Even if it's not your fault?"

"Jesus, who changed the channel to Hallmark?" Gabe smiled, nudging Chris in the shoulder. "What about you Ritz? What's got you are raged up?"

Chris tensed as his crumbling world settled itself back on his shoulders. Half of him wanted to tell Gabe everything, just lay it all out on the table about who he really was, about his mom's death and his sour relationship with his super-witch Aunt and his perfect older brother and his absentee father and... but he couldn't help himself from holding back. It really was unfair, especially since he had been so angry at Gabe for keeping his own secrets. But he couldn't deal with all of it at once.

"My grandfather, Victor has cancer," Chris whispered. "That's what the test were about this morning."

"Oh wow," Gabe said slowly, drawing the words out. "How bad is it?"

Chris scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't even know," he admitted. "I didn't stick around long enough to find out the details. I panicked man."

"Don't you think this is something you should know about?" Gabe said gently. "I mean, it's rough for you, think about how it is for Vic."

"Okay, why do you call him that?" Chris asked, the casual nickname raising his temper just as it did the first time.

"Calm down Ritz," Gabe chuckled. "I shorten everyone's name. I mean, for Christ's sake, your name is Chris and I had to come up with something even shorter for you. It's just a thing I do."

"You don't know him and it's annoying," Chris muttered.

"If I got to know him, could I call him Vic?"

Chris glared but couldn't keep his laughter from escaping as Gabe just grinned and jumped up. He offered a hand to Chris and pulled the younger boy up from the ground by his elbow. He wasn't expecting the strange feeling of waves again as Gabe shimmered and before he knew it, his feet connected with the cool tile of civilization instead of the gritty sand of the Underworld.

"I think we should ask him," Gabe said, steering Chris around a corner and down the main hall of a hospital. Chris felt a mild panic swell up inside him as he and Gabe marched towards an elevator. Gabe punched the buttons once they were inside and held the door shut button until the machine lurched itself towards the third floor.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Chris half-groaned.

"Because, whether you like it or not, I am _your friend_," Gabe said. "And this is not something you should be alone with."

"Fine," Chris agreed. "Just no more secrets."

"Chris," Gabe said, glancing over at him with knowing eyes. "You and I both know there are things you haven't told me. So unless you do, you can't expect me to have no secrets."

There was more to say but Chris didn't get a chance as Gabe suddenly shoved him through an open door and slammed it shut behind him. At some point, they had made it back to his grandfather's room and he hadn't even noticed. The room looked almost exactly as he'd left it; his backpack was still on the ground at the foot of the bed, the clipboard of medical charts on the mattress. The only difference was Victor sitting at the window in a chair, matching Chris' gaze from across the room.

"Hi," Chris whispered, his breath catching in his throat.

"I was hoping you would come back," his grandfather sighed.

"I..." Chris was at a loss for words. He hadn't thought about what he would say to his grandfather. He'd been so selfish, freaking out and running away, he didn't even think about what Victor needed or even trying to say something strong and meaningful.

"I was scared too," Victor said.

Of course he would know exactly what Chris wanted; he'd always been like that, always been able to read Chris like an open book. He was the one who understood Chris the most and that's honestly what scared the hell out of him. It had hurt so much when his mother died, but he could share that with people who understood him. What was he supposed to do if he lost the one person who understood him best?

"I want you know know that I never tried to hide this from you," Victor said. "Two years ago, they told me I had lung cancer. I didn't tell anyone until it went into remission. Your mother nearly killed me herself when she found out. But it was gone and I was healthy and there was no reason to tell you kids."

"But what about now?" Chris asked softly as he sat on the windowsill, trying to work up the nerve to look his beloved grandfather in the eyes.

"It started about a week ago," Victor admitted. "I thought it could be a cold, but I went to the doctor just in case. They found a spot on my right lung with an x-ray but they wanted to do some extra testing. I did a dumb thing, Chris. I told them I didn't want to know. I went home and threw some things around until you came home and in that moment, I realized that for your sake, I needed to know. I couldn't just hide away like I did the time before."

"I guess it's nice to know someone's dying ahead of time," Chris said.

"Chris, I'm not-," Victor cut off his sentence as Chris glared at him. "I respond very well to treatments Chris. I beat it once before, and I can do it again."

"I just don't know what to do," Chris admitted as Victor took him by the hand. "I don't know what to say, how to act, what will make it better, what will make it worse."

"This is not in your control," Victor said. "It's not even in mine. It's just one of those things that happen. But as for what you can do for me – just be my grandson, the one I love so much. That's all I need from you."

Victor stood up and wrapped his arms around Chris' shoulders, pulling him into his chest. Chris hugged his grandfather back. He still felt like he was shattering, spinning out of control, but at least he had this to anchor him down for a little while longer. He would be better. His choices would be better and he could go back to being the grandson Victor loved him as and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to stop the free-fall.

Their hug ended just as Gabe bounced into the room, twirling a stethoscope around his fingers. Victor looked surprised at the teenager striding casually across the room but Chris could practically see the puzzle pieces fall into place in his grandfather's sharp mind. After all, Gabe's appearance wasn't much different from Chris', with the dirty clothes and haphazardly placed bandages only barely covering the myriad of cuts and bruises that decorated his skin.

"The door?" Victor asked, with a pointed look at Chris.

"Not exactly," Chris said, burying his head in his hands. He could definitely hear Gabe's grin widening, flashing those white filed down teeth as Gabe and his grandfather exchanged introductions. He knew it was coming – there was no way Gabe wasn't going to ask – but Chris still wanted to jump out the window as Gabe said it:

"Can I call you Vic?"

**

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**AN2:** So how did you enjoy our little impromptu trip to the underworld? Yeah, I wasn't really expecting that to happen myself but I realized that this IS a Charmed fanfiction and while I have an over-all story arc, I didn't want the Charmed world to get lost in the drama. Anyway. I hope you all got to know Gabe a little bit better. He's got his issues and he tends to over-compensate for some things, but he's essentially a good guy and like I said, he's a big part of this Charmed world.

Also... I'd apologize for taking so long to update, but I think we can all agree that it's kind of normal for me? Yes? ... Okay, in all seriously, I hate that it takes me so long to write and I'm sorry you have to wait on me. For those of you still around, I love you! For those of you just joining, I love you too!

I love reviews! (hint, hint) They feed my muse.


	8. Like a Shadow, Forever

**Disclaimer: **Sill not mine.

**AN: **THREE THINGS! One – Yep, I suck. I'm the worst updater in the history of ever. TWO – I doubly suck for coming back with the shortest chapter ever. THREE – It's actually a pretty packed chapter, despite being slightly filler-ish. Also, foreshadowing.

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_People under suspicion are better moving than at rest. - Franz Kafka_

**Chapter Seven: Like a Shadow, Forever**

**November 2018**

"That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life," Chris groaned as he watched as his kitchen counter – that five minutes ago had been relatively clean – unsuccessfully fight off the onslaught of cheese wrappers, bread crumbs, and various containers of lunch meats.

Giving up on the mustard, Gabe just shrugged in Chris' general direction and said, "then you need to start by looking up disgusting because this is damn good."

"You put chips on your sandwich!" Chris argued, throwing the emptied bag at him.

"Yeah!" Gabe responded. "Turkey, cheese, mayonnaise, sour cream and onion... barbeque is good, sour cream and cheddar, Doritos-"

"Just stop talking," Chris shook his head, repressing his laughter as Gabe tried to mash the monster sandwich down to a size that had a chance of fitting in his mouth. With a loud crunch, it gave way, sending shards of potato chips flying off in every direction.

"You are so cleaning this up," Chris said as he turned to walk into the living room. "Now get your ass in here, the game's about to start."

"Jesus Christ, it's just football," Gabe shouted back. "It's not even a good sport, like soccer or quidditch."

"Really?" Chris laughed. "Your bringing that up again?"

"All I'm saying is, you witches are all legal and verified and shit, and there's still no quidditch," Gabe shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Why is there no quidditch?"

"Unbelievable," Chris said, shaking his head as he stretched out on the couch, forcing Gabe to sit on the floor. It wasn't an unusual scene; the last two months had been spent like this, and, for the most part, life had been relatively normal. School was fairly easy, if increasingly dull due to the fact that his new high school tended to use more books than Magic School. And there was almost no practical approach to the lessons, mostly because one has a hard time stepping into a history book. Well, it wouldn't be that hard for Chris, but the rest of his classmates would find it difficult.

Gabe hadn't changed much after revealing his big secret except that he seemed a bit more relaxed when he and Chris would hang out alone. There were many moments when Chris could clearly see the forked tongue as Gabe talked, a feature he was always careful to hide in public; and he would walk around barefoot, something he wouldn't have dare done before because of his cracking manticore skin. Chris nearly passed out from laughing when he walked in on Gabe during one of his moisturizing routines which seemed to consist of spreading electric blue paste across the surface of his face and neck, as well as tying bandages soaked in the same mixture around his elbows and knees. Unfortunately, it did very little for his feet.

And then there was the shimmering. It was like Gabe was relieved to be able to do it so often and in front of someone who wasn't his dad. He would pop in during the middle of the night, insisting that Chris wake up and join him on some life-altering experience taking place halfway around the world. Truth be told, he was usually right. Chris' favorite had to be when they crashed a huge night-surfing festival in Hawaii. Neither of them could surf at all, but that didn't stop them from effectively closing down the beach the next morning when the cops came to break up the remaining stragglers.

It was ironic though, that Chris would gain a friend – and a good one at that, he'd decided – when his oldest friend Tyler wanted nothing to do with him. After the party at Misty Gold's house, after discovering Gabe's identity, after being told that his grandfather had cancer, Chris longed for something familiar, something he knew would never change. He and Tyler had fought before and they always managed to laugh about it the next morning. His pride kept him from making amends for nearly two weeks, but he knew his best friend to be just as stubborn. Eventually, his resolve waned and he needed to talk to his friend, but instead of being greeted by Mrs. Mathison's cheery face, he nearly orbed into the giant moving van parked outside the family home.

He was moving. That was what Tyler had been trying to tell Chris that night at the party, why he had been so upset that Chris changed their plans. Because he was leaving and didn't know how to tell him. Because he was worried about Chris, because Chris had already has so many horrible things happen to him this year, and he didn't want it to feel like it was yet another curse in Chris Halliwell's life. But now, Tyler had told him, he didn't care. He was done, just done and as far as Chris was concerned, he was building his own hell.

More than six years of friendship, done. Just like that. And if it were all his fault, Chris couldn't help but feel betrayed. Was one fight really so awful that they couldn't part on good terms? According to Tyler, it was and Chris was left, once again, feeling like another piece of his world was being chipped away. More than that, he felt as if he were being isolated from everything he'd ever known.

His mother, stolen from him. His best friend, finished with him. His grandfather was slowly being eaten alive by a disease that science still hadn't managed to cure, and as much as he hated to admit it, the distance between him and the rest of his family proved to be more than he had prepared for. He didn't visit them as often has he'd promised he would. Part of that was because he was trying to look after his grandfather while respecting Victor's wishes that no one else know about the cancer until there was a more clear diagnosis. And then after there was a clear diagnosis, of stage 3B lung cancer, Victor still insisted that he needed to be the one to break the news to the rest of the family. Chris knew that if Aunt Phoebe or Paige were to ask after him, Chris would break down and tell them. If he were to tell Wyatt, his brother would spread the news faster than he could orb. And Melinda.. she didn't need to know about it and Chris would never force her to keep this a secret. The other part was that Chris was terrified they would see through his facade.

Being friends with Gabe had inadvertently made Chris a better actor. He could smile now, when he wanted to scream. He could laugh when he wanted to crawl into the dark corner of a room and hide. He could joke and jeer and carry on a conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He could trick himself into believing he was happier, that he was moving on. But he if he studied the mirror closely enough, he could see the cracks in his spirit starting to shine through. His eyes were darker and shrouded, the pupils blown a bit too large to be normal. His skin felt loose where he had lost weight and that made his cheekbones appear sharp. His hair needed a trim, but he was afraid to cut it for fear that it would look even thinner than it already did. He knew that he looked different and it was not in that growing up sort of way and that would be obvious to anyone who bothered to pay close attention to him.

It wasn't something he planned on; it's not like he woke up one morning and decided on it. If it had been spelled out to him in black and white and he were then asked to pick a door, he certainly wouldn't have chosen this. But somehow, it had happened and he wasn't sure how to stop, he only knew he had to. Because now, it only took him two weeks to finish them off and then he was sneaking into his grandfather's and later lying about it – all for a few tiny, white, nondescript pills. All for a few hours of feeling nothing.

Somewhere along the lines, he had come to need, to rely upon pain pills just to get through the day.

Sometimes he thought Gabe knew. The way he would look at him sometimes seemed to say that he suspected. More than once, after allowing Gabe to borrow a notebook or a pencil, Chris noticed there were fewer tablets in his backpack at the end of the day. But he never said anything, which Chris found curious. But he couldn't exactly come out and ask Gabe why he continued to let him be a drug addict without admitting that he actually was, in fact, a drug addict. What if Gabe had no idea and Chris was simply imagining the disappearing pills? Except that Chris often counted them, just to be sure and he always knew, without a doubt, how many he had.

God, it made him feel so schizophrenic. Intellectually, he understood he had a problem; physiological, it was a necessary evil; and emotionally, it felt as essential as breathing.

"Want a bite?" Gabe asked, shoving his sandwich under Chris' nose and bringing him crashing back into reality. Chris wrinkled his nose and shook his head firmly. He might be a delusional pill addict but there was no way he was ever eating anything Gabe cooked up.

"Suit yourself," Gabe remarked as he inhaled the last half of his meal. "I think your team is losing."

"His teams never win."

He had to do a double take towards the door to be sure that he was seeing things correctly. Leaning against the door frame, curly blonde hair well past his chin and blue eyes sparkling dangerously was none other than his own brother. Wyatt crossed his arms in front of him as Chris just stared incredulously. There had been no indication whatsoever that he would be coming to visit, yet here he was as if he owned the place and the look in his eyes seemed to be demanding a reception. But he had none, nothing except:

"What are you doing here?" Chris questioned, his voice light in amusement as he got up from the couch. He noticed that Gabe has remain frozen on the floor and, if it were possible, looked even more surprised than Chris himself did.

"What do you mean, 'what are you doing here?" Do I need an excuse to visit my little brother?" Wyatt threw his arm over Chris' shoulder, half-hugging his younger sibling in such a way that it felt more like a choke-hold. "Hey," he nodded stiffly to Gabe. "You going to introduce me to your friend, Chris? Or are you just gonna stand there staring at me like an idiot?"

Chris glanced over at Gabe; the expression of surprise was gone at least, replaced by the heavily-guarded mask Gabe wore around strangers. There was a wary glint in his eyes that seemed out of place, but Chris didn't have time to ponder it's meaning as Gabe choose that exact moment to resume his life as an animate being.

"Hey, I'm Gabe," he offered his hand out to shake but Wyatt didn't take it. Instead, he just fixed Gabe with a hard, angry stare. That look was all too familiar to Chris, having been on the receiving end of it many times after many arguments and disagreements, but it seemed very out of place when directed towards his friend.

"Gabe," Wyatt repeated slowly, drawing the syllable out in a condescending manner. Gabe dropped his outstretched hand and crossed his arms over his chest, already on the defensive as Wyatt continued, "I'm going to need a bit more information than that, like a last name to start with. Where are you from, Gabe? Where's your family from? What makes you tick? I don't exactly know you, do I?"

Gabe's eyes narrowed into slits as he responded, "I don't know you either, pal."

"You don't know me?" Wyatt laughed and Chris cringed inside. He never noticed before how conceited his brother could sound; he was used to being recognized and fawned over but this was the real world. The only thing Gabe knew about Wyatt Halliwell was history book text and underworld gossip. He didn't even know that _this _Wyatt was a Halliwell, and how could he? Chris hadn't exactly been honest about his family.

"Well, logical reasoning leads me to believe that you're his brother, Wyatt Perry," Gabe hissed. The smirk on Wyatt's face dropped into a scowl at the use of Chris' purported last name. "Beyond that, I'm forced to draw my own conclusions about who or what I think you are," Gabe concluded, voice dripping in sarcasm and unsaid implications.

"Perry," Wyatt scoffed, shifting his incredulous gaze towards Chris for a moment before turning his attention back to Gabe. "The difference, Gabe, is that I'm not the one hanging out with your kid brother."

Chris had had just about enough of Wyatt's attitude. He thought he was used to his brother commanding the room – it's something that he'd always done – but this felt more personal, like Wyatt was going out of his way to be rude and to someone he had never even met before. "Wyatt, come on," Chris said. "Give him a break."

"No, it's fine," Gabe interrupted, holding his hands up in a position of surrender. "I think I'm going to go."

"You really don't have to."

Gabe looked over Chris' shoulder towards Wyatt, eyes searching, testing. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Wyatt nod but pushed that out of his mind as Gabe pulled on his boots and slung his bag over his shoulder, saying, "Yeah, I think I do. Thanks for the sandwich, Ritz. I'll see you around."

Gabe turned to leave the room only to find Wyatt nestled comfortably against the door frame, face twisted into a cruel grin. "Hey, it was _great_ to meet you," Wyatt sneered and Chris had a sudden vision of Gabe burying his first in his brother's face; honestly, Chris had seen him snap over less. But instead, as it became obvious that Wyatt was not going to move, Gabe just slithered past him and walked away without another word. Gabe's lack of reaction was almost as disturbing as the whole situation. Almost.

"What the hell was that about?" Chris demanded.

"Perry?" Wyatt growled. "It's one thing for you to give up our name but don't tell your useless friends my name is _Perry_."

"I didn't tell him that, he assumed," Chris argued. "And you know nothing about Gabe so shut up."

"He seems like a spineless prick," Wyatt shot back. "He ran out of here fast enough."

"Because you were antagonizing him!" Chris retorted. "Why?"

"I just want to know you your friends are Chrissy," Wyatt explained. "I mean, your budding new social life _has _to be the reason you don't have any time for your family anymore. You can't even pick up the phone to call."

"Yeah, well, the phone goes both ways Wyatt."

"Don't pull that bullshit with me little brother," Wyatt instructed, pressing his lips together in a tight line.

"And stop with all this 'little brother' crap," Chris insisted. "It's annoying."

"It's what you are," Wyatt shrugged, flouncing down onto the couch. "On both accounts."

The pillow Wyatt was holding suddenly jumped out of his hands and slapped him across the face. Chris couldn't help but smile at the pure bewilderment etched across Wyatt's features as he wrestled with the pillow before finally sending it to its demise across the room, free-floating feathers following in it's wake.

"That was not funny," Wyatt sputtered.

"It was," Chris stated.

"So, what time are you coming over on Thursday?" Wyatt asked.

Chris's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's Thursday?"

"Thanksgiving."

Thanksgiving... Chris had completely forgotten about Thanksgiving. Not the holiday exactly, but that his family might want to celebrate it. He wasn't in much of a giving thanks mood after everything that had happened this year and it was hard to believe that anyone else could be. Besides, how could he sit at that table knowing that Aunt Paige conjured up the whole meal instead of slaving away in the kitchen all day, yelling at everyone to keep out of the pumpkin pie and to stop stealing the whipped cream spoon. It wouldn't be his mother's Thanksgiving dinner and just knowing that, just thinking that, ripped the holes in his heart open to new depths.

"I didn't know we were having Thanksgiving," he said in a very small voice.

"Why wouldn't we?" Wyatt asked quietly, and Chris knew he already knew the answer.

"I guess I just thought that since-."

"It's a family thing," Wyatt interjected. "Family is important."

His tone was so final; Chris knew he wasn't going to say much more than that. The pain flared up again. He needed to talk to his brother about this, about losing mom, about spending their first big holiday without her. It was her favorite holiday. She looked forward to it all year; it was the one thing she could count on Leo to never miss. Paige would go the whole day without doing one thing work-related. The cousins would fight over who got to her make the ice cream. Phoebe would laugh and smile like her old self. It was always a perfect day and Chris just could not imagine a Thanksgiving could ever be like that again. Because she wouldn't be there. It was just another thing he would never have again, that none of them would ever have again and his stoic, cold as ice brother would not talk to him about it.

"It's going to be weird," Chris said before he could stop himself. But Wyatt didn't react at all, just continued to stare blankly across the room at the television screen. Chris cleared his throat, "I guess this is you inviting me, then."

"It's Thanksgiving," Wyatt answered. "You don't need to be invited. You should just be there."

Chris sighed, unsure of what else to say besides, "Yeah, okay."

"Great," Wyatt grunted as he got off the couch. "Plan on staying late, too. I need your help with something."

Before Chris had the chance to ask what it was or even protest, Wyatt disappeared into his swirling orbs. Apparently, the matter was settled. In just four short days, Chris would be back at the manor, sitting around the dining room table passing mashed potatoes across the room, pretending to smile while he died inside. At least, looking at the situation now, that's how he felt. Maybe it would surprise him. Maybe he would have a good time. Maybe...

Maybes weren't enough, he thought as he absently reached into his pocket and slipped a pill under his tongue.

He went to bed before Victor got back from the grocery store; eleven hours and four medically unneeded doses later, he orbed to school in a fog, wondering why they would even bother having a two-day week when if everyone was so damn intent on having a Thanksgiving holiday. But the public school system was not one to deny the horror of a Monday morning, so Chris ghosted along the hallways as best he could.

He was greatly relieved at lunchtime when he finally spotted Gabe along the senior hallway. That is, until he actually looked at Gabe and realized a few distinct new additions to his friend's appearance that decidedly weren't there the day before. Namely the dark purple bruises around his neck and the swollen bloodied gash just below his right eye. More than that, it was obvious that Gabe was trying to hide the wounds by lifting his jacket collar up to his chin and pulling a hat low over his eyes. Chris never knew Gabe to hide his battle wounds; he wasn't the type. Hell, he showed them off.

"Jesus, what happened to your face?" Chris asked.

"Nothing," was the only answer he gave, tugging at the jacket to pull it higher.

"Did you go to the underworld again?" Chris pressed.

"Yeah."

One word answers was another thing Gabe wasn't known for and Chris could tell if he was more worried or annoyed with the sudden change in attitude. "So what, you're not talking to me right now?"

"Seriously, not everything is about you," Gabe said harshly, his eyes flashing between bronze and steel. Chris knew this to be a sign that Gabe was agitated, that he felt cornered. But for the life of him, Chris couldn't think of anything he'd done that would make Gabe feel that way around him. Unless he was holding Wyatt's behavior against him. Gabe wasn't the type to do that either. Everything about him was just so out of character and it was starting to throw him off balance as well.

"What's wrong?"

Gabe slammed his locker shut. The sound echoed down the hall and Chris could swear he felt the ground shake with the force of it all. Gabe just glared at him, eyes tired. "Just back off."

"I'm trying to help you."

"Help me by leaving," Gabe said and breezed past Chris, the action nearly identical to how he had left the day before. Chris stared after him in disbelief when Gabe turned on his heel and leaned to whisper in Chris' ear. "Help me by giving me some of that hydro you keep in your pocket. My face fucking hurts."

Numbly, Chris passed him two of the tablets. Gabe quickly palmed them and then he was gone, without so much as a look back. That was it, he decided. He wasn't going to stick around for the rest of this day and he headed straight out the entrance doors, breaking into a run as he crossed the street and once he was hidden in the trees of the park, he orbed without a thought, without destination.

It was an odd feeling, this extended flight of consciousness. He was coming apart and breaking together, crashing and free-falling all at the same time. It was limitless, eternal, finite. It felt like mere moments that he stayed like this, even as he watched, felt, became the sun set. When he finally reformed, he was sitting on top of the Golden Gate Bridge and he wondered how far he could fall before he had to orb out. He wondered if he the water would break him if he didn't orb before he shattered the black depths. He wondered what it would feel like to orb underwater. He'd never done that before. He wasn't even sure if it could be done.

Would he see their faces as he fell down?

He dreamt of them that night, of their small frightened faces and he saw Phoebe engulfed in a fire of rage, his dead cousins pointing accusingly at him through the haze and Phoebe was hurling ice and flame at him. He couldn't defend himself, as his powers could be reached through his contrite. The elements cut a path through him, but he came to no harm. There was a force within him, absorbing the damage, keeping him from feeling it. The end never came, but he never got any weaker. It was as if he had a shield hidden inside him, protecting him.

He could see Wyatt as he stood just to the side, cold and unmoving, studying the battle as if he were an outsider instead of one of the guilty. A terrifying, scorching wave of fury washed over the bridge, burning Phoebe and the cousins into ash. Chris felt the shield appear in his hands, a heavy mass of silver and gold. He held it vainly ove r his head, knowing he would burn, that he deserved to burn. The shield melted in his grasp, but he was left unscathed. It was Wyatt who was damaged.

He was cracked, a jagged cavern down the center of his body and he stood in the molten remains of Chris' protector and laughed. It sound of it was the cruelest thing Chris could imagine and in horror, he watched as the crack in Wyatt expanded and broke the ground at his feet. The earth ripped itself apart and it screamed in pain. And Wyatt simply continued to laugh.

He was shaking when he woke up from this, shaking harder than if he had just survived an earthquake. It took three pills and a few swigs of Victor's whiskey before he trusted himself to even close his eyes again. After hours of tossing and turning, he cast a sleeping spell on himself, knowing he would pay for it later. And he slept through all of Tuesday with a fever he could feel down to his bones. Wednesday he spent with a chill sent straight from the Arctic. Even worse than all that was that he was miraculously well come Thursday morning. No matter how awful personal gain consequences could be, they always had impeccable timing.

* * *

**AN2: **I know, I know... Harry Potter reference... I've had Harry Potter on the brain. Though, I think it's ironic; as much as I love/adore Harry Potter, I've never once had a fanfiction idea. Weird... but the soundtracks are very conducive to a writing environment. I think I went through all eight scores while writing this.

**AN3: **Yes, I eat chips on my sandwich.

I write, you read, you review, and I write more... eventually.


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